


Shards of Ice

by Naerys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (because really he is), (because really she is), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Humor, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sansa being a BAMF, Slow Build, So slow I'm sorry, Tywin being an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naerys/pseuds/Naerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin Lannister, CEO of Casterly Corporations, ruthless head of the Lannister Family.</p><p>Sansa Stark, college student, beloved daughter of District Attorney Eddard Stark.</p><p>They meet at the museum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa Stark loved museums. 

What she loved less was going to museums while wearing heels. 

She cursed herself and her decision to wear these particular shoes this morning as she desperately looked for a vacant chair, but school holidays had started a week ago and it seemed every well-meaning parent had decided to take their kids out to the National Gallery today of all days. She had been standing for two hours now, first to just enter the place, and then getting in line to buy tickets for the Rembrandt transfer exposition.  
She had finally given up on that as the pain in her soles grew more and more difficult to ignore and she saw the price for the exposition, far more than what a simple student who had already spent too much on very beautiful impractical shoes could afford.

Of course, Ned Stark's daughter would not have to even think about the money, but then Father would want to make this a "family outing". She could already practically hear Arya snickering and comparing Rembrandt's models to hobos and drunkards, while Bran and Rickon would bravely try to bear the long torture of waiting until the adults were finished. Jon and Robb would surely have found a way to avoid it altogether, but if not Jon then would completely overshadow her own meager knowledge of the paintings with historical facts and dates about the period of the artist. Father would then spend the rest of the visit talking about some boring war or another with him while Mother tried to keep Rickon calm, people would _look_ at them, and it would just end up being a complete disaster.

Sansa dearly loved her family, but there were some things that she'd rather appreciate without them.

In the meantime her feet hurt like hell.  
She passed through many rooms trying to find a place to sit, not even looking at the paintings, before finally seeing a bench whose only occupant was an old man in a suit. In fact, the whole room was otherwise deserted, apart from two guards near the door.  
Internally screaming in victory, she sat down with a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.  
First rule of the Louboutin Gospel : always have a spare ballerina pair on you if you are to wear heels. Only true suffering awaits those would dareth to forget this.  
A few moments passed before Sansa remembered that she _was_ in a museum, sitting (slouching) in a completely undignified manner. Straightening herself, she opened her eyes.  
And found herself momentarily breathless.

Ice. Broken shards ripping through the infinite blue of the sky like cruel blades, it looked like chaos made eerie still on canvas, the cold white of the Artic in the horizon only disturbed by strange tormented shapes of blue ice. Looking at this, she could feel the deathly cold, and the silence, the terrible silence. Then she saw the sinking ship in the corner.  
The ice was a tomb.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she sighed, forgetting her poor feet to look at the painting with rapture.

"Caspar David Friedrich, _The Sea of Ice_."

The voice came from the old man sitting next to her. Lost in her admiration of the scene, she had almost forgotten that the rest of the world existed and had ears to listen. The man was sharply dressed in a dark coat that looked very expensive in Sansa's expert eyes, and was sitting straight, his severe profile turned towards the painting. There was something strangely familiar about the sharp angles of his face, about his grey-blond hair and the shape of his short beard, but she was unable to say why. Distantly, she thought that he looked very distinguished, in that austere sort of way that cannot be bought with money.

"Is that the name of the painting?"

"Obviously."

Well, he had a point. This was the only painting on the wall facing them.

"Oh."

She internally cringed. Could she sound more stupid if she tried? 

He was evidently thinking the same, judging by the not-terribly-impressed look he quickly shot her.

"Well, I think it's beautiful," she said defiantly, crossing her arms. 

"Indeed." His voice was cold. 

"Why, don't you like it?"

For a long moment there was only silence, and Sansa thought to herself that she could almost feel the aura of unpleasantness surrounding this man. No wonder he was the only one sitting here before she came.

"I don't 'like it', nor dislike it, I suppose," he finally answered, sounding almost like he was talking to himself. "I certainly admire the masterpiece, and relate to the force of nature represented here, I can even appreciate the symbolism, but like it ? No. The same way no one would 'like' a tiger baring its fangs at you."

"Well, I like tigers"

 _How to sound like a pre-schooler, by Sansa Stark._ The man now turned fully from the painting and gave her a long, incredulous stare. He had very green eyes.

"More seriously" she cleared her throat,"I think the reason I like this painting (and tigers but let's not dwell on that) is that... Well, maybe 'like' is not the right word, if you take it that way. It's just, I find it fascinating _because_ it is frightening ? This is the depiction of a scene of ruin and death, and yet, the ship is almost forgotten in the corner, while the focus of the composition stays on the ice, completely indifferent to its victims, unmovable. It makes the whole scene both more horrifying and more beautiful, you know ? Because we, as humans" she exclaimed with an encompassing gesture, moving unconsciously closer to the man, "automatically relate to the occupants of the ship first, and to see it represented as so insignificant in the grand scheme of things... That can apply to every man's death, really. So I see my own death there, in a way. But you also see the rest of the world keeping on existing, uncaring, and... Okay, I think I get why you don't really like it."

"Why, do you think that because of my age I should be particularly sensitive to the topic of death?," he said dryly.

Horrified, Sansa hid her mouth behind her hand.

"Oh, no, I'd never ! Anyway, you're not _so_ old, and..."

That's when she finally saw the faint amused glint in his green (were there gold speckles in there ?) eyes.

"You're messing with me !", she accused him loudly, torn between outrage and amusement herself. At the noise, a woman passing by shot them a dirty glare.

"Only a little", he admitted, "but then, there are some temptations a man should not resist"

She couldn't help but laugh, quickly covering her mouth for the second time. 

"I'm sorry, I'm not usually this rude. " 

"Rude?"

"I mean, I know it's impolite, being so loud in a museum..." And the man looked and spoke like he ate good manners for breakfast. So. There was that.

"Don't worry about that. This place could do with a few more laughs."

"I don't think the museum conservator would quite agree with you. Or the guards, for that matter," she said, giving a quick look to the place where they stood near the room entrance. 

Strange. The one sitting looked like he was trying very hard to _not_ look at them, while the second was now talking in urgent hushed tones with the woman who had glared at Sansa just seconds ago. It was impossible to hear what he was saying to her, but she seemed remarkably paler than she had a minute ago. 

"Now, my observation of my grandchildren led me to believe that teenagers travel everywhere in herds these days. And yet, here you are, alone and harassing strangers with your ludicrous love for tigers."

When exactly had they gone from polite coldness to somewhat amiable banter ? Not amiable really, she corrected herself, narrowing her eyes slightly, for the man's voice was still impeccably polite and almost devoid of intonations. Yet it was completely different, in a way that she couldn't exactly define. 

"First, I'll have you know that tigers are beautiful creatures. Second, I'm twenty-three. Also, you have grandchildren?"

Somehow, she couldn't imagine the man sitting next to her as a grandfather. In her mind, grandfathers were supposed to be like Grandpa Hoster, frail, wrinkled and always with a smile. Not like... This. 

"Three. None of them with any artistic talent, I'm relieved to say." He didn't sound particularly relieved to her.

"Why, would that be such a bad thing?"

"While artists are a necessary part of society, and even sometimes useful, in the right place and occasion, they are ultimately dependant on the good will of their public and patrons, doomed to parasite those stronger and more powerful than themselves. I think I am justified in having higher expectations for any member of my family."

He said this with this emotionless voice of his, as if it was an evidence, an indisputable truth.

Sansa thought of her own dream of becoming an artist, and felt a wave of burning irritation rising in her.

"Should you not wish for their happiness, first of all ? And how dare you call a whole group of people parasites, just because they're not as rich or strong as you ? Who are you, to insult people in this way ?", she exclaimed with a slightly trembling voice.

Now, maybe that was a little rude, but she didn't really care. She felt justified in her indignation. Age and rank notwithstanding, the nerve of this man ! Yet as the silence grew more and more suffocating, she found herself sweating under the weight of his calm stare, all of her usual timidity returning to her. 

"Happiness", he finally murmured, just as she was about to leave, "Such a subjective notion. You could pursue it all your life along, causing long-term misery and ruin to others, and for what ? It's an impalpable, fleeting thing, gone the moment you think it is in your grasp. Should that really be the foundation of a life, the ultimate goal ? I have seen where expectations of happiness can lead men, and it is a bleak perspective. Gladly will I leave happiness to the dreamers and fools, for the good it will do to them."

She stared at him, waiting for more, while he looked at her almost expectantly. 

"That's all?", she said, incredulous.

"What's more to say?," he answered, imperturbable. 

There it was again, that almost imperceptible amusement in his eyes, while his mouth remained unsmiling.

"Well, will you not acknowledge that calling people 'parasites' is wrong ?"

"I never apologize, especially not when I'm right."

 _If ego was a brick, this man would be the Great Wall of China_. For a moment she just watched him with something like wonder, speechless. Then she rose from her seat, wincing a little at the sudden pressure on her feet. Damn those shoes. She was definitely never wearing them again.

"Okay, I... I must really go now. I'm sorry for disturbing you, sir," she said, nervously adjusting the hem of her dress, "Have a nice day." 

She turned away to leave.

"Wait."

 _Does he really expect me to obey?_ This was definitely the voice of a man being used to people obeying his every order. _How about no._  
She just kept on walking, pretending not to hear, not seeing the worried looks the museums guards sent in her direction, and feeling stupidly victorious all the way.

That was until she realized, less than one minute later, that she had forgotten her handbag on the bench. This time, her audible groan of despair made more than one visitor raise their eyebrows.

He was still there, of course ,and though he was not even smiling, his eyes were still laughing at her. Definitely.

"I tried to warn you."

"Yes, thank you very much, sir. Good day." 

"You are going to the Rembrandt exposition ?"

She stopped right in her tracks

 _How would you even know that?_ She nearly asked aloud, wondering stupidly for a moment if the man was a telepath, before seeing the prospectus for the collection, visible in her bag.

"I would have," she said, staring at him right in the eye,"if it was less expensive. As it is, I guess I'll have to parasite someone to even have a chance of seeing it."

"I see"

He then rose from the bench and she was surprised by how tall he was. He stood very straight, and suddenly he was giving her a white little visit card. 

"Give this to the collection register, and this shouldn't pose a problem."

There was definitely gold in his green eyes.

Numbly, she took the card, and watched him leave.

Then she read the name on the card.

If she was not well-mannered and in a museum, she would have screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am French and English is a language that I mostly learnt by myself, so. Grammar. Definitely not my forte.
> 
> I would be grateful for any correction. Also any feed-back or advice.
> 
> If you love it, hate it, are indifferent to it ? Please tell me !
> 
> (Also, I absolutely do not regret this pairing. If Sansan is my absolute OTP, Tywin/Sansa is this pairing that answers so much of my kinks that I don't even regret shipping it, AU-style. Deal with it.)
> 
> By the way, this is Friedrich's 'Sea of Ice' :  
> http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/0c/Caspar_David_Friedrich_-_Das_Eismeer_-_Hamburger_Kunsthalle_-_02.jpg  
> Isn't it magnificent ?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People react to stuff. Texting is coming.

Sansa climbed the last of the stairs leading to her flat barefoot.

As she slid the key into the keyhole, she absently thought that she would soon be short on dry cat food for Lady. She never could hold on to predetermined schedules for the weekly shopping. Or to anything, really.

As the door opened, she was greeted by a sharp meowing, and a little furry body rubbing against her bare legs, nearly making her trip. Dropping her bag and shoes, she knelt on the floor to hold the overexcited tabby against her chest.

“Hi, baby”, she said softly, “Now's not the time to get all ninja assassin on me, okay ?”

She felt so horribly tired.

Lady nuzzled her cool little nose against her neck, purring loudly. She had been so still and silent as a kitten at the refuge where Sansa sometimes volunteered. When she adopted her, Sansa thought she would be exactly like what she imagined cats were supposed to be : cute, but independent and distant. Instead, Lady had turned into a little purr machine, always in need of affection and reassurance, and Sansa had learnt that animals were their own little persons, never to be put in boxes or to follow human expectations.  
The first time Father had seen them together, he had said in joke that this absurd cat should have been born a dog. Or something similar.

“I wish I could stay in this flat with you, never having to go out ever again”, she sighed, “humans are stupid.” And she was the stupidest of them all.

She could call Jeyne, or Margaery.

_No. I know this world, Father's world. They must never be involved._

(Years ago, a man bleeding to death on the ground while she prayed desperately for help that would never come.)

 _She_ never wanted to get involved. She wouldn't. Never again.

With shaking hands, she put Lady down, ignoring her outraged protest, and rose from the ground.

The little white card was still in the front pocket of her bag where she had put it away, and she carefully laid it on her kitchenette's table, then took a step back to study it, as if putting some distance would help.

Simple yet elegant in design.

**Tywin Lannister**  
**Casterly Corporation, CEO**

Sadly you couldn't just put _Mafia Don_ and _Supreme Evil Overlord_ on a visit card these days, though it would certainly be closer to the truth.

No phone number, no mail adress. Of course.

Not that she would want to leave him a mail. Ever. She shuddered at the mere idea.

She should talk to Father about this, he would know what to do. He always did.

Yes, and she could already imagine how well that would go.

_“Hello Dad ? Hey, remember the head of the Lannister family ?  
You know, the crime lord, the Old Lion, the one who apparently owns every judge in this country. Also owns some companies, there and there. Well, a lot of them. I guess he aims to become Satan and rule the world at some point in the future. You used to play darts on a picture of the man when I was little. _

_Oh, and remember that time his men cut off your left leg and of course it could never be traced back to him ? Remember how we had to pay a financial compensation for_ defamation _to him at that time ? Remember that time on my eleventh birthday when his men came into our house and pointed guns at our heads ?”_

Because she remembered. She remembered very well.

_“Anyway, yeah, Tywin Lannister. I kind of met him at the museum today. I didn't know it was him, he didn't look like... I mean, I've seen his face before on photographs, years ago, and he looked different, somehow. Isn't that weird ? We talked. About art, and some other things. He was almost nice, for a faw moment, can you believe it ? Oh, and I kind of called him a classist douche. Well, not in those terms, Dad, of course. He left me his visit card. It was a kind gesture actually. I checked, and guess what, the Rembrandt collection transfer is predominantly subventionned by Casterly. As is the museum. And most things in this town, I guess.”_

_“Dad, I'm scared. Please tell me what to do.”_

No, she only had to think of the limp in her father's gait while he prosecuted a case in the courtroom, of the prosthesis he hid under his clothes, of the gleam of sunlight on a gun's barrel pointed at a terrified little girl to know that she couldn't tell Father.

Most likely, he would be powerless to do anything anyway. He would just worry, and it would just put him in even more danger than he already was.

_"Who are you, to insult people in this way ?"_

She was only a stupid, stupid little girl.

No, she thought, staring fixedly at the little rectangle of paper, the best thing to do was to just ignore everything, and act as if nothing had happened.

She would certainly _not_ use his card to get a free pass at the collection, and, she told herself resolutely, she would not even think of this day ever again.

_“No one would 'like' a tiger baring its fangs at you.”_

 

He had probably already forgotten all about the rude girl from the museum, anyway.

 

As she threw the card in the garbage bin, a little part of her distantly wondered why she didn't feel as relieved as she should have been by the idea.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Tywin Lannister didn't do distractions very well. That was something Kevan had always known about his brother.

Most men had a hobby, a favourite book, a way to forget. Not Tywin.

As a child, Tywin had learnt to play the piano, as had Kevan. It was expected of them, and Tywin performed beyond expectations, as he did in everything, yet the only time Kevan had seen him put any effort in it was when their mother died. While Father retreated more and more into himself, ignoring both the rest of the world and his children, while Kevan and Genna cried in their beds, eight-years old Tywin would spend all his days and most nights bent over the keyboard to the point of exhaustion, his little face serious and expressionless, until he could play this one piece, perfectly.  
Debussy's eighth Prelude, _La fille aux cheveux de lin_. Their mother's favourite.

He played it at the funeral, his feet barely touching the pedals of the great Steinway piano. That was the only reason why he has worked so hard. Kevan could still remember their Father bursting into tears, having to leave the room. Yet on this day, while the rest of the family called him a prodigy and already saw him on the scene of Carnegie Hall, Kevan only had to look at Tywin's face, and he knew.

And indeed, Tywin did not bother to play again for anyone, except for Joanna. But then, Tywin's untold set of rules never applied to Joanna.

Anything that didn't serve the company or the family's interests in some way or another was just beneath his attention. Tywin knew just enough about literature, music, painting, sculpture, architecture to impress and mercilessly crush his discussion partners in any social event he deigned to attend.

For Tywin, culture was a weapon, nothing more. He didn't enjoy it. He didn't even care for it.  
Sometimes Kevan wondered if he liked anything but the taste of victory.

He knew financing the transfer of the Rembrandts (some of them recovered through illegal channels that were best kept silent) was only one more little display of his power, a way to show off the aura of House Lannister.  
“True power lays in the details”, had said Tywin once, and Kevan believed it.  
So he went to the opening, casually terrified some influencial personnalities, and that was that.

Which was why when on the way from a company meeting, only a few days after, his elder brother told the driver to drop him off at the museum Kevan couldn't hide his surprise.

“Wasn't our business with the exposition over already ?”

“It is. I just want to check technicalities on an unrelated matter”, said Tywin in Tywin-speak, as Genna called it.

That usually tended to signal that he was unsure of something. Well, as unsure as a man like him could be.

Kevan narrowed his eyes at him, but sure enough his brother's face could have been cut in stone, for the good it did him, his eyes staring impassive at something out the window.

“You stayed longer than I thought you would, the other day.”

Turning his eyes away from the window, Tywin shot him a warning glance. Yet when he answered, his voice was as calm as ever.

“Some painting caught my interest.”

“Your interest”, repeated Kevan, incredulous.

“I will not tolerate more inane questions from you, Kevan.” A simple statement, but there was a finality in it.

Kevan refrained to point out that he had asked no questions in the first place. A wise man knew not to question Tywin when he was in this sort of mood. And Kevan didn't need nor wish to know everything about his brother's deals.

He had just begun checking the company mail on his phone while waiting in the car, when his brother opened the passenger door.

“Let's go back to the mansion”, he said curtly.

Kevan shot a quick glance at his watch. It had been less than five minutes.

“Well, that was quick.”

Tywin didn't even deign that with an answer.  
He seemed... Thoughtful.

Details, all this, but details were often the only clue one could have about Tywin's true thoughts.

So Kevan kept silent, and waited.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sansa looked at her phone, bemused.  
She had five missed calls from Margaery and ten new text messages that began with :

**sansa were r u gurl answer ur phone i need ur expertise :'(((((**

and ended with a very meaningful :

**booooo u hoe >_<**

She didn't even know what that meant. So she dialed her number.

"Sansa !"

"Marg, sorry, I was at my singing lesson so my phone was on vibrate mode..."

"Yeah, I knew it would be something like that. Something serious and boring. Sansa, Loras needs a beard !"

For a short moment, Sansa's mind went blank.

"Sansa ?"

"Yes, I'm still there. It's for some sort official event, right ? Doesn't Elinor usually go with him ?"

"She's sick and also found herself a boyfriend somehow. Alla is busy, Meredith is on a date..."

"Did you ask Jeyne ? I'm sure she would like to go."

"Sansa, I know Jeyne is your childhood friend, and she's a very nice girl, but I think she may... stand out a little in that sort of party", said Margaery in a soft voice.

Sansa frowned.

"Now, Margaery, that's just not true at all, why are you even saying such a thing ?"

"Sansa, remember the last time I invited her to one of my parties ? She got drunk and then spent the rest of the evening crying because some boys had begun a fight at the bar."

"Well, one of them ended in the hospital with multiple facial fractures, so I don't blame her for being a little disturbed."

"Disturbed, yes, but to point of crying for hours ?"

"We all have done worse things when drunk."

"Yeah, I remember that time you climbed on a bar stool and began singing some church choral to your biker..."

"Margaery, no."

It should not hurt so much, not after all this time.

"Okay, I'm sorry." she really sounded regretful, "I should not have... It's just that it's been three years now and..."

"Anyway", Sansa interrupted, blinking quickly. She would not cry. "You should ask her. You know I don't go to that sort of event, and now especially is not a good time for me."

"By the Gods, Sansa, it's just a posh party. People go there to get free drinks and caviar and think that makes them classy. Even your family will be attending, I think, and actually I'm surprised they've not already coerced you into going with them. You've been living like a hermit for years now."

"It's not true."

"Yes, it is.", she was serious now, "You never mention any friends from college, which means you don't have any, or else I would know everything about them. You don't go out, you don't date, the only things you have to talk about when we meet are classes and your recitals. Are you still punishing yourself ?"

"I don't..."

"I bet you don't even get laid."

"Margaery !", exclaimed Sansa, feeling her face flushing scarlet from embarrassment.

"When was the last time you got laid, Sansa. Tell your friend Margie."

"I will certainly not. It is not your concern. And you have enough excitement in your life for both of us."

"Yes, I'm sooo perfect, you should totally take example on me." There it was, the scorn in her tone, self-directed as always.

"I know." Why did she feel so sad, suddenly ? Maybe because her friend still felt the need to hide behind exuberance and irony. Marg, who could have led a life of luxury in the golden world of her parents, and who was finishing her second semester as an intern in general surgery. Marg, her good friend.

"You know that I really admire you, Margaery, right ? I'm sincere."

For a long time there was only silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Margaery spoke, in a too-bright voice :

"Girl, you _really_ need to get laid."

"I will not..."

"Sansa, baby, listen now. You will go to this party. Because either you'll say yes right now, or I'll call your mother and tell her how much I worry about you. Loras needs a beard, you need to stop mourning and enjoy yourself for once, and the world needs to see your pretty face again. So, your answer ?"

"Margaery, you don't understand, now is really not the time for..."

"Wrong answer" she said in a sing-song voice, "Time for some Mom intervention."

"Don't you dare hang up !"

Of course she did. Sansa was still balefully glaring at her phone when she heard the familiar bird chirp of a new text.

**Sansa, darling, it's Mum. Can we talk ?**

Quickly, she dialed Margaery's number.

"So, your answer ?"

Could anyone sound more smug ?

"Alright, I'll go. But you _will_ find a way for Jeyne to come too."

Another bird chirp.

**sansa it s dad :) you know we love you very much right :) :D**

"Also, Margaery ? What I said earlier ? Forget it. You are a dead woman."

The only answer from the other end of the line was a truly diabolical laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my headcanon that Ned in this AU is somewhat technologically challenged. And that he really, really loves using a ton a smileys in his messages, while keeping a very serious face all along.  
> Robert is so done with that.  
> N : "good morning robert how are you doing :D :D :D i have a new report for you waiting in your office also you should talk to jon about the department s financial issues :) ;)XD O:-)"  
> R : "Ned, dude, you need help."
> 
> Again, any criticism is welcome !


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People talk, pieces move on the board.

"She didn't answer my text," said the great Eddard Stark in a forlorn voice.

Catelyn couldn't completely repress her smile as she looked at her husband's long face. Such a serious man, and yet Ned had a true gift for channelling the kicked puppy look.

"Give her some time. I bet she's just busy talking to Margaery right now."

"You're probably right," he sighed

"What did you write to her, exactly ? Show me" She held her hand out to him.  
Wordlessly he gave her the phone cell.

Looking at the screen, she burst out laughing .

"What is it ?" Ned seemed rather confused.

"Ned, she's twenty-three years old already, not five ! _I_ wouldn't answer you. Also, darling ? We talked about your little problem. You overuse the smileys."

"I still think it looks better like that."

"Yes, I can see that. It's a shame that the rest of the world doesn't agree with you," said Catelyn, still smiling.

"Vayon said he thought it was 'cool'"

"Vayon Poole is your accountant, darling. Of course he agrees with you. You definitely should take his words with a grain of salt."

The phone in her hands vibrated. Cat quickly glanced through the words appearing on the screen and smirked. She handed her husband's phone to him.

"There, look. Told you."

**Hi Dad, I love you too :) Tell Mum I know what she's doing and that her and Marg are both evil >_<**

"See, Sansa also uses the little faces."

"Ned, it's all about context."

"Are you sure you're not just a little old-fashioned ?' He glanced at her, furrowing his brow. "Also, your daughter says you're evil. I must say I agree with her."

"Now, aren't you supposed to put the villains behind bars, darling ? If I was so evil, would I be in your bed right now ?"

"Ah, but then you're the most formidable villain of all," whispered Eddard to his wife's ear, before gently kissing the delicate curve of her cheek, "keeping me at your beck and call this way. Tell me, why aren't you ruling the universe yet, darling ?"

"Ruling this family is exhausting already." She stretched her arms with a sigh and leaned her head on his chest, listening to the regular beat of his heart under her ear while Ned slowly combed her long auburn hair with his fingers "The rest of the universe will have to wait."

"Thank the Seven for their little mercies."

Suddenly frowning, Cat lifted her head, looking him in the eye.

"Talking about villains, how's your last case going ?"

He sighed.

"Not well, predictably. Double-murder on the Eastside. Of course no one saw or heard anything. Even though every element we have in our possession prove that the murders happened during the day, in an usually busy alleyway. There must have been witness, but good luck getting them to talk. One of the victims had his face completely crushed and the coroner's report says it was done using brass-knuckles, big size. He couldn't even reconstruct the dental prints. "

"Gregor Clegane ?"

"Certainly looks like him. No one but the Mountain would have the sheer strength or size to pull this off."

"What are you going to do about it ?"

"What can I do ? I have no witnesses, no identity for the victims, no solid proofs. I have nothing ! This was a closed case before it even began. So, you see, Tywin's dog stays free, and once again I lose time and sleep running after shadows. Why do I even bother ?"

"You're a good man, that's why. Didn't Jon Arryn said he had new elements on the mob's organisation ?" she murmured.

Ned just shook his head.

"A fool's chase. I bet Jon doesn't really believe in it himself. For ten years now, I've tried to catch the Lion, Catelyn. What has it brought me ? A missing leg and my family threatened. No wonder our eldest children left home so soon."

"You wouldn't be the man you are if you just gave up to those criminals. Also, Sansa and the boys wanting to finally leave the nest had nothing to do with your work. I know it's difficult for you to accept that your little babies are all grown-up and leaving home, but that's what they're _supposed_ to do, Ned."

"I still want to keep their rooms intact. You never know what might happen."

"As you wish, dear", she replied with a smile, "Anyway, we should still have a few years before Arya decides it's her turn to go on adventures."

"Dont talk about such horrible things. Anyway, what was that about ?"

"What was what about ?"

"Margaery's call."

"Oh. Well, she wanted me to talk to Sansa about the charity gala, you know, next week ?"

"Ah, yes." The thought was clearly unpleasant to him "The farce presided by Robert and paid with Lannister money for Lannister glory. I cannot tell you how much I _don't_ want to attend this travesty. Why did you ever think it would be a good idea for our daughter to come to this den of evil ?"

"This 'den of evil' is your friend Robert's house, dear," her voice a gentle reproach.

"Any place where the lions thrive is a den of evil."

His voice was harsh, filled with an old bitterness. Cat lifted her eyebrows at him.

"You should tell that to him, I'm sure that will make him very happy. Anyhow, Margaery think it is time for Sansa to show herself in society again, and I must say I agree."

"Well, forgive me for not being overwhelmed with joy at the idea of her attracting attention from our enemies."

"Ned, it's not about that. For three years now she has cut herself from her old friends. When was even the last time she was seen in any social event ?"

"Well, if she wants to avoid the upper-class and its vipers, I can only commend her wisdom.", he muttered.

"Ned, don't you understand ? That attitude is why you stand no chance against the Lannisters as it is. They are everywhere, have all the key offices, they are in all the right places, and why is that ?"

"Because crime money makes them filthy rich ?"

"Well, yes" conceded Cat, "But also because they know how to _make connections with the right people_ , Ned. Those same 'vipers' you so despise. Our children befriending those kids could mean winning back precious influence from Lannister's claws."

"So, what, you would use our children as pawns in that despicable game ? ", exclaimed Ned with disgust. She shook her head.

"Ned, remember how Mace Tyrell saved your skin in the Braxwell case, months ago, the one with the senator ? Tyrell has no particular interest in doing so. Do you think he would have even lifted a finger if Sansa wasn't his daughter's best friend ?"

"You think Margaery intervened ?"

"Obviously. She may want to become a surgeon, but this girl is a natural politician, and her father is putty in her hands. After Olenna Tyrell retires, she'll be the real power in the family. It's a very good thing she likes our daughter."

"Does Sansa even know ?"

Catelyn stroked his hand absentmindedly, thinking.

"I wouldn't tell her.", she finally pronounced, slowly "She isn't one to use friendships to manipulate and deceive, anyway. She's remarkably similar to you in her character, you know that ? Still, that's not the only reason why I chose to intervene. "

"Ned, she needs friends, be they rich or not. She needs them, especially if she's to make a career in music, as she wants to. So yes, I'll encourage her to go out, to meet again with the Tyrells, with the Fossoways and the Martells, the same way I encourage her to spend more time with Jeyne. She isolated herself in those few years, Ned, and that's not good for anyone, especially a beautiful young woman like Sansa."

"Oh no, I can see where this is going, please don't tell me you're already thinking to play matchmaker with my little girl. _Please_ ," he moaned with exaggerated despair. She giggled.

"Okay, I will not say it. And that's not what I was..."

"She's too young,"he interrupted her, more seriously.

"I was twenty four when I married you, remember ?"

"First, you talk about sending Arya on adventures, now you want to find a husband for Sansa. I thought I would die someday at the hands of the Lannisters, but now I'm beginning to think that _you_ will be the end of me."

"You wouldn't have me any other way. And I don't _want_ to marry Sansa to anyone, who do you take me for, Mrs. Bennett ?"

"As long as you let my daughter out of your evil plans. Witch." He cupped her face in both his hands, wearing this gentle smile he gave to no one but her. She languorously stroked his side with just the tip of her fingers, slowly.

"Dear, right now, the only plans I have involve you, me, and this bed here.Will you not let yourself be _bewitched_ ?," she wriggled her eyebrows suggestively and watched him shake his head, frowning.

"Now Cat, that was a horrible pun."

"I know, dear" She kissed his sigh away, tenderly, "I know"

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

On the other side of the town, an old man was dying in his bed, his pill organizer laid empty on the bedside table. In the half-opened doorway, a woman stood watching, her eyes gleaming even in the dark.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Ned was preparing the morning's coffee when his phone rang.

"Weird, usually your office tends to call in the middle of the night," was Cat's only comment as she distractedly stole a slice of toast from his hands, her hair all tousled from night's sleep.

Watching the caller's id, he picked up the phone.

"Robert ?"

For a few moments the other end of the line was silent. Heavy breathing was the only thing Ned could hear. Distantly, he remembered some horror movie the boys had brought back home once, that began the same way.

"Robert, what is it ?," he tried again.

"Ned," only said Governor Robert Baratheon.

Suddenly the world stood still, holding its breath. The last time Ned had heard Robert speaking his name in that broken voice, there had been blood, so much blood, its metallic smell pervading the air like perfume.  
Lyanna's blood.

"Ned, Jon's dead. His wife found him this morning, cold and still in his bed."

Drinking her coffee, Catelyn threw him a questioning glance that he didn't see.

"It's going to be all over the news in the morning and I wanted... I wanted you to know."

Ned finally found his voice again.

"Robert, how did he die ?"

Cat suddenly stood, worry visible on her face.

"How would I know ? Old age, I guess. He was seventy-five years old, Ned, and his heart was weak."

"Recently, Jon..."

_He said he had new intel. He said there was something he had to verify before he could tell me. And, fool that I was, I didn't believe him. I had given up._

He couldn't tell Robert. Not yet, whose trembling voice resonated again in his ear.

"I'll need you with me, Ned. With Jon dead... That changes everything."

Ned nodded silently, even though his friend couldn't see. Catelyn gently took hold of his hand in both of hers.

"I'll be there for you Robert," said Ned.

He looked at his wife, and felt dread coiling in his chest.

"As I always have."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**_Casterly Inc. official building, some hours later_ **

"So, the King's Hand is dead. Long live the King !"

Tyrion would have drank a toast to the dead if his dear father permitted any alcohol in his office buildings. As it was, he had to do with an imaginary cup. Of course, the effect wasn't the same at all.

"This is no place for your jests, Tyrion. You will refrain from them, or you will leave this room this instant," snapped Tywin Lannister.

Sometimes, Tyrion thought, the head of the Lannister clan looked more like an irritated eagle than the lion he was nicknamed for. This was one of those times.

"You should smile more, Father. Looking at your face right now, one would never believe we just won a huge victory."

Tywin turned away from the floor-to-ceiling window to glare at him. You would imagine the reunion of the members of a mob family to at least take place in a dark cave, but no, Father liked things clean and neat. The large luminous room was all clear walls and cold metal.  
Behind him, the city stretched with its great skyscrapers as far as Tyrion's eye could see, yet it looked almost insignificant compared to the man who ruled it.

"That's because we didn't," said Tywin, "And if you consider the death of that man a victory of ours, then you truly are the fool I always took you for."

"What, did he _really_ die of natural cause ? That sounds just a little too convenient, even to me."

When Father didn't bother to answer him, it was Kevan who replied. The man was his brother's puppet, through and through.

"Tyrion, if this was truly murder, it wasn't on your father's orders, and we'll have to deal with that matter in time. But whether intentional or natural, Jon Arryn's death just complicated the situation. We'll have to act quickly if we want this to turn to our advantage."

"Robert called his friend Stark this morning," interjected Cersei, her golden curls a glorious vision in the sunlight, "I heard him, Father. He wants to call him back to his side, to take Arryn's place."

"Eddard Stark, the Lame Wolf. A pretty Hand, that one would make." Jaime scoffed, and Cersei laughed, the sound musical and perfect.

"Silence."

At that one word, the world obeyed, as it always did when Tywin commanded. _Gods, I would give anything for a cup of wine_ , thought Tyrion, as his father's icy voice dominated the room.

"Eddard Stark _will_ be the Governor's next Hand, of that there is no doubt. With the premature death of his mentor, Robert will accept nothing less than his trusted childhood friend to deal with his excesses and greed. We may have had a chance to convince him otherwise if there hadn't been that deplorable incident with his leg. That was folly, Jaime."

"He had Tyrion kept in jail !" exclaimed his golden brother at this, "I had to do something, Father."

_Oh, Jaime. I think that if not for you, Father would have borne my imprisonment with so much more grace._

"May I remind you that it was my money that got Tyrion free in the end, and not the blood you shed ? Robert would have been much more inclined to believe his friend's hate for us to be born out of paranoia if he didn't have a visible reminder of your actions every time they meet."

"He couldn't prove it was me."

"Of course he couldn't, but do you think Robert cares for proofs ? The man is led by his feelings and passions."

"Disgusting ones, that I can tell you," whispered their sister.

From times to times, Tyrion pitied her. _Even paying for sex is better than having it forced on you by a drunkard._

"I do not care for bedroom's details, Cersei,' said Tywin with indifference. "Thanks to Jaime's past actions and his own foolish stubbornness, Eddard Stark has no love to spare for us. Right now, we are his prime suspects for Jon Arryn's death."

"So, what do we do ?" asked Tyrion.

"We do nothing. After all, we have nothing to hide, and Robert would not react well to any threat to his friend right now. No, we'll keep our claws from Stark, for now.  
Let him destroy himself alone. He may be known as a man of justice, but as a politician, Stark is a walking disaster that would have been done years ago without his wife's influence. Let him make enemies of the other players, let Robert's attention be distracted by the other forces on the board. Let him try to protect Stark, when he cannot even protect himself.  
We will outwardly support both Baratheon and Stark. And in a few months, when his Hand goes down, then Robert will have no other choice but to come to us, his trusted allies, for help."

Silence reigned for a few moments between the Lannisters after that declaration.

Then Jaime spoke, his smile thin as a blade.

"As long as business stays as usual, that's fine by me,"

"I've already issued an official statement regarding Jon Arryn's death," Tywin continued, "but the first act of our little charade begins on next week's charity gala. I will _not_ tolerate any blunder from you on that day, Jaime. Cersei, have a word with your children about adequate behavior, and try to get along with your husband."

"I will not...," exclaimed Cersei in outrage.

"You're dismissed."

And Cersei could glare all she wanted at their father, while Jaime looked at her with concern in his eyes, in the end they always obeyed.

As the golden twins retreated from the room, Tyrion couldn't help but ask :

"What about me ? Don't you have any special orders for my humble person ?"

"You already know what your orders are. Don't make me repeat myself." Tywin turned his back on him, looking at the landscape with these cold eyes of his.

_Don't drink, control that tongue of yours, and no whore, not if you wish for them to live to see another day._

Tyrion had always imagined the unsaid following words to be somewhat akin to _also, if you could just stop breathing altogether and go die in a corner, that would be nice, thank you very much._

He took a breath, and rose from his seat, slightly waddling on his short legs on his way towards the door.

"Well, this was pleasant. Have a very nice day, Father"

He knew of a very nice, discreet establishment nearby which would provide both the women and the booze he felt he well deserved right now. A bit on the expensive side, but then if there was a thing Lannisters didn't lack, it was money.

_And what you don't know, Father, cannot hurt me._

After all, the only thing this man who ruled men and land had always refused to own was this one very, very little son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not so satisfied with this chapter's ending. Oh well. Not my fault Jon Arryn decided to die on me.  
> Also, I don't know anything about the legal or political ranking in the US OR the UK, so obviously, I'm just bullshitting my way through this. Bear it with me.
> 
> In the next chapter : some interaction, finally !
> 
> Your reviews are my sun and stars (to those leaving kudos : thank you too ! :D), and any criticism or corrections are more than welcome, as always.
> 
> (Also, I'm officially looking for an English-fluent good soul to accept beta-ing this little story here.  
> I would be eternally grateful to you.  
> Like, if I bake a cake and you ever come near Paris, I would save the first piece for you. And if that's not a good bribe, I don't know what is.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See chapter notes for trigger warnings *.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved pretty things.

Beautiful dresses, beautiful music, beautiful boys.  
The little girl was lucky enough, for her parents were, if not rich, at least well-off. She had no shortage of gowns or useless pretty baubles while growing up.  
And the girl was beautiful herself, everybody always said so.  
At first with words.  
“Oh, what a pretty little doll !”  
And later, as her chest filled up and her legs became long, as her body became curvy, with stares and awkward touches.  
But the girl would change in the meantime. One day, her father disappeared, and when they finally found him it was in a bleak hospital room, left mutilated and prone to long silences as he never had before.  
It was then, listening unseen to her parents shouting, that she first learnt that “Lannister” meant “danger”. 

Then it seemed to her that the faceless men were everywhere, and finally not even their home was safe anymore. She learnt to watch for shadows on the way to school, to always hide inside the crowd, to never go alone where she would be an easy prey. 

She didn't want to be beautiful anymore, she only wished to be left alone. Unnoticed.

The others didn't understand. She kept a smiling face in their presence, seemingly without a worry in the world. She also kept good grades, for homework provided her with a good reason to stay inside. Mother didn't saw her throwing the old ugly brown coat on her shoulders as her and Arya left for school in the morning, covering her auburn hair, lowering her head, while her sister watched her uncomprehending. 

Arya didn't feel the need to hide. Neither did the boys, or her parents. They weren't afraid, not like Sansa was. It was her who was the coward in the family.  
She was so ashamed of it, oh how she wished she could be brave like them !  
And as the shame grew, so did the fear, dark and ugly and stealing the breath from her lungs as she walked in the street.  
She felt it at night when she laid awake in her bed for hours, quivering at every loud noise that came from the outside. She felt it when she was at the library, she felt it each time Father came just a little to late home in the evenings, she felt it when she thought someone was staring at her and she turned back, her heart beating wildly in her chest, only to find no one there.

She tried to hide it.  
She failed.

“Why are you even doing this”, Arya frowned at her once, while munching on chewing-gum and popping bubbles loudly, “that's stupid. The store is just at the end of the street. And you're only drawing stares with that horrible coat. It doesn't suit you _at all_.” 

Her little sister was only ten at that time, yet Mother had already let her die her hair, (after an entire month of yelling and a lot of broken furniture) and she flaunted her bright new purple colour to the world without a care.  
Sansa hadn't been able to answer. She _knew_ she was being stupid, and a coward. The only thing she could do was to make Arya promise not to tell anything to Mother and Father.

So, of course, she told their big brothers.

And from then on, you would find both Robb and Jon waiting every morning for her and Arya to come down the stairs, walking them to middle-school like bodyguards, when King's High was in the very opposite direction. Of course, they teased her and her stupid coat all the while, making silly faces, and Arya would hold her hand tightly, saying terribly bad jokes with a straight face until Sansa was laughing so hard she forgot to even be afraid. 

With time, she learned to leave the ugly brown coat at home, to take the dust in a drawer.  
She let her auburn hair shine copper again in the light. The nightmares seemed to become more and more insignificant.  
Oh, the fear was still there, lingering in that little distorted corner of her mind where the monsters lingered, but she became better and better at ignoring it.  
She was still a coward, but it didn't matter. She had her very own knights to be brave for her.

She lost count of the number of times her brothers came back home with angry tardy slips from the teachers, and yet they never told Father and Mother the reason they were always late in the first place.  
Father could sternly reprimand them all he wanted, they just stood before him, straight and solemn, and afterwards they would wink at her while Arya burst in loud guffaws.  
It was their little secret, they said, and indeed these mornings when the four of them were united together against assassins, adults and boogie-men would stay in her memory in the years to come as some of the happiest times in her life.

Of course, nothing good ever lasted. 

Her knights left her.  
Robb wanted to go into the military, and then Jon went to college, to study history.  
She, too, had to grow up. With her good grades, she won a scholarship to Highgarden's very prestigious private high school. Arya went to the district's public school.  
She made friends. Distance grew between the sisters.  
Arya called her friends pretentious. She would reply daintily that Gendry and Mycah were both ignorant and rude.  
Arya listened to hard rock and punk. Sansa loved classical music and folk.

More and more often, what had been enthusiastic discussions and laughter turned to shouting matches during the family dinners, right before their parents concerned stares, Bran and Rickon eating silently while the sisters tore through each other.

In Sansa's sixteen years old mind, things were very simple. She was the good daughter. Arya was just jealous she couldn't have better grades, better looks, better friends.  
And if she sometimes felt remorse, deep in her own heart, with time she became better and better at ignoring that, too.

Then she met the Hound, and everything changed.

________________________________________________________________________________

 

It is a constant of the universe that the more you hold onto a promise, the more likely it is that you'll have to break it.

Sansa glared at her pair of Louboutins.  
The same shoes who were at the origin of all her current worries.  
If looks could kill, the stupid things would have been pulverized into dust and thrown into outer space by now.

Sadly, it was also the only pair of shoes in her possession that was classy enough to wear to this stupid party.

_I should never have agreed to go in the first place. Neither Mother nor Margaery could have forced me, if I kept saying no. Why, oh why did I say yes ?_

Also, Margaery and Loras were coming to get her in half an hour, and she wasn't ready. At all.

There was a time when she had all the gowns she could wish for, but since she had left the family home to live by herself she had to learn how to manage a budget, and that meant saving for food rather than clothes she would only wear only twice.  
Of course, she _could_ have asked her parents for money, money they would have been more than happy to give her. The only cost would have been her pride.

She shook her head and looked over her wardrobe again. There it was, the simple, yet flattering light blue dress that matched her eyes. She hadn't worn it in... She didn't even know how much time.

(The last time she wore it she had been laughing, laughing so much, and dancing in his arms, he who so hated to dance.)

It would do. She couldn't possibly have gained so much weight that she couldn't put it on.

As it was, she realized after a few moments that she in fact had _lost_ weight since the last time. Looking at herself in the mirror, it was obvious the dress which had once fitted her form perfectly was now one or two sizes too large. She felt her eyes well up with tears.

_Get a hold of yourself, Sansa !_

Maybe, with her little white wrap-over top... Yes, that was better.  
Well, no, it was horrible. Her simple elegant dress now only appeared simple, and not elegant at all. 

Oh well, at least she looked like her dress fit her.

 _It will have to do. After all, as Mother would say, it is the woman who makes the dress, not the dress who makes the woman._ If only she could believe it.

She spent the twenty following minutes trying to do something with her hair and make-up that would belie the impression given by her clothes. Finally she managed to comb her long auburn locks into a low braided bun, in which she put little hairpins in the shape of blue roses. They had been a gift from her mother, as were the pearls she put at her ears.

Staring again at herself in the mirror, she thought of the ballgowns she had worn on similar occasions, years ago in another life. This simple wisp of girl staring back at her with sad blue eyes hardly looked like the person she had been then. 

_At least, I won't attract attention this way._  
And that, as far as she was concerned, was a _very_ good thing.  
She frowned at the mirror.

Suddenly, she could hear _his_ voice again, raspy against her ear.

_Little bird, you could wear a potato sack, and I would still want to fuck you._

This time the girl in the mirror looked red as a tomato. Sansa turned away from her reflection.

“How I wish you were still there” she said, holding herself tightly. “I wouldn't feel so afraid, if you were there.” She felt so cold.

The sound of her cellphone ringing suddenly brought her back to herself. She looked at the clock with surprise and quickly picked up the phone.

“Margaery, you are late !”

“Yeah, don't I know. Sansa, I don't even care if you still have to put your lipstick on, you have to get your ass down there right now. There's a fuckton of traffic and we still have to get Jeyne.”

“Uh, okay.” She hanged up. She had nearly forgotten Margaery's tendency for swearing when nervous.

Smoothing down the front of her dress, she threw a quick glance at the little photograph hanging above her bedside table.

“Wish me luck” she said in a toneless voice, before hurrying up to meet her friend outside.

 

__________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The Tyrell's limo was waiting for her in front of the appartment complex, gleaming far too bright under the few passers-by's incredulous stares. Sansa groaned. What were they thinking, driving that ridiculous thing in thiskind of neighbourhood ? They could have taken the Porsche, at least.  
She prayed no one noticed her as she got in the car. 

"Hello, Sansa. You're very beautiful", said Loras as a greeting, smiling widely at her. 

_You are the one who is beautiful._ He was wearing a dark green suit that flattered his chestnut curls and showed off his slender frame, his grin as white and warm as ever. She'd had such a crush on him in highschool, Sansa suddenly remembered with fondness as the driver started the car.

"Sansa !" exclaimed Margaery, aghast. "What in all heavens are you wearing ?"

She herself wore the most beautiful thing, a tender lilac gown made of silk, enhanced with delicate silver embroidery and little pearls of the purest white at the bodice and sleeves, her hair falling on her shoulders in thick curls. She looked like a queen.

Sansa looked down at her own so very plain dress and sighed. 

"I know, I know. Marg, I'm sorry, I just didn't have..."

"You cannot come to the gala looking like _that_. It's..."

"Oh by the Gods, Margaery" interrupted Loras, "Leave her alone. The only ones who'll even care that she's not wearing the latest Dolce and Gabana this evening are you and some bitter old bags who wish they were her anyway. Believe me, Sansa, you _are_ beautiful."

"Thank you so much, Loras" Sansa replied, deeply touched. "Though I pale in comparison to you. That colour is amazing on you."

"I know. It's a good thing I do have perfect taste. Do you know that Renly wanted to wear yellow, of all things, to today's party ?"

"No, really ?" she gasped, unsuccessful in hiding her smile. "I hope you managed to dissuade him. That would be so utterly horrible on him."

"Don't I know. I had to promise him a blowjob so he would let me dress him. I half believe that was the man's true intention from the start."

"Loras !" Sansa laughed. "You shouldn't say such things. It's scandalous."

"Which is exactly why you've so graciously accepted to be my official plus one tonight. On that matter, I must thank you for that, Sansa."

"No need to, you know it's always such a pleasure to be seen with you" she teased, poking him in the chest with the tip of her fingers.

"Also, Sansa ? I missed you. We all did." He looked at her seriously and she turned towards the window, suddenly self-conscious. There truly was a lot of traffic.

"I'm sorry", she said softly. "I know I've not been a good friend these last years, and..."

"Oh, shut up, Sansa" Margaery suddenly said, glaring at her with narrowed eyes. "If you hadn't stupidly deleted your Facebook account, you would have seen the reactions when I said you were coming tonight. Everyone from highschool is super excited to see you again, and I tell you, there was some epic capslock contest going on there until at least two in the morning. Be careful of Randa when you see her at the party, she sounded a little demented there, I fear she may kidnap you and keep you locked in a tower if you give her the chance"  
She took Sansa's hand in both of hers.  
"Point being, girl, those who know what happened do understand, and the rest don't care because they're just so happy to see their sweet darling again, so don't you _dare_ going all emo on us, okay ?"

"For once, and as painful it is to admit it, Margaery is right' said Loras. 

"Damn, I should have recorded _that_ for posterity's sake."

Sansa felt her throat tighten and her vision blurred at the edges. She wanted to laugh, and yet she also wanted to cry. Why couldn't she decide between both ?

"Also" added Margaery matter-of-factly after a moment, "I've reposted all your embarrassing pictures from our holiday in Hawaï. Remember that time you lost your bikini top in front of everyone while singing karaoke ?"

"You didn't !" She hid her face in her heads, mortified.

"I'm sorry, Sansa" Loras patted her on the head with false commiseration "She totally did."

"It's on the Internet now." Margaery cackled " _Forever_."

"I hate you so much right now," she moaned.

"That's the attitude" Marg smiled.

That was the moment the car stopped.

"Marg, you better call Jeyne to tell her we're there at last" said Loras.

"I do hope _she_ had the sense to wear something appropriate" she sighed, lifting her hand to her chest with exaggerated pain.

A few moments later, Jeyne got into the car, babbling like a little girl.

"Sansa ! Margaery ! Loras ! Oh, I'm so happy to see you all !"

Marg gasped in shock, her eyes wide. Even Loras lifted his eyebrows.

"Jeyne, _what the holy fuck_." 

"It's very pretty, isn't it ?" she cried out with excitement. "Mom and I went shopping together the other day, and as soon as I saw it, I just _had_ to buy it. I was so lucky it was on special offer !"

"I'll bet it was", said Margaery. She looked ready to faint.

"I never wear red usually, but I really think it's my colour. What do you think, Sansa ?"

"It's..." She tried to find words. "Very shiny," she ended up saying diplomatically.

"One dress like a nun, the other like a freaking succubus," muttered Margaery, shaking her head "Why did I ever chose to befriend you two, that I'll never know."

"What did you say, Marg ?" Jeyne was grinning happily.

"Nothing at all, Jeyne. I'm _so_ glad you could come tonight."

"I am too ! Thank you so much for inviting me. Mom was so excited for me ! She always says I should go out more. Also, you look wonderful, I just _love_ your gown."

"Thanks."

"Sansa, you too" said Jeyne, turning towards her. "But then you always do, it's so not fair for the rest of us. Oh, Sansa, I'm so glad we're going together !"

Sansa found herself smiling. Even with that too-deep cleavage and the short hem of her dress, Jeyne exuded happiness. Sansa suddenly remembered a little five-year old girl with missing teeth, joyfully splashing in the mud while an auburn-haired child chided her solemnly, her own pretty dress also completely covered in dirt.

"I'm glad too, Jeyne. I think you're beautiful" she said sincerely.

"Ugh" only said Margaery in despair.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

"Baratheon, Tyrells, Royces, Tullys, Martells, and finally the Starks. All the fine bunch is here." said Jaime Lannister with distaste, lifting a flute of champagne to his lips to cover his frown.

"You just forgot about a dozen other families, but yes, the important powers are there" conceded Kevan mildly.

Tywin didn't say anything.

The three Lannister men watched down from the stairs as Robert Baratheon welcomed his friend Eddard Stark with a vigorous handshake, Cersei at his arm,sublime in a white creator dress that must have cost a little fortune. Though it did little to hide the disdain in the turn of her lips as she greeted Catelyn Stark.

"I want you to have a word with your sister, Jaime" Tywin finally said after a moment, looking over his daughter all the while with a critical gaze. "She may be a poor actress and an even poorer politician, but now is not the time to deliberately antagonize our enemies."

"It's difficult for her, Father, you know that" protested Jaime.

"I didn't ask you to make excuses for her attitude. Just let Cersei know that if she chooses to disobey my orders, she'll have to deal with the consequences all by herself this time. Ned Stark may be a fool, but even he isn't _that_ blind. And Mrs. Stark certainly isn't." He suddenly turned away from his daughter's laughing pretence, sharply looking at a little group of latecomers who had just entered the hall. "Who's this ?"

"Ah, Margaery Tyrell" answered Kevan while coming closer to the edge of the stairs, looking intently at the young people. "Mace Tyrell's daughter, but truly old Olenna's rightful heir, from what I've heard."

"I know who the little Tyrell is" Tywin snapped at him. "What about her companions ?"

Kevan lifted one eyebrow at his brother, but Jaime suddenly spoke anxiously.

"This is not Tyrion's doing, Father, I would have known if he'd brought a whore. The slut in red did not come with him."

"Do I look like I care ?" said Tywin, barely raising his voice. "What about the other girl, the one in the blue dress ?"

"The one at young Loras Tyrell's arm ? I don't think I've ever seen her before" answered Kevan thoughtfully. "No doubt one of Margaery's many friends, although her companions used to look more sophisticated than that."

"She _is_ rather charming, though" remarked Jaime with a smile. "Very... innocent."

Looking at his brother, Kevan could practically _hear_ Tywin grinding his teeth, his eyes fixated on the strange girl in blue. _That must mean something, but damn if I know what. This isn't like him._

"Kevan" finally said the head of the Lannister family in an even tone belied by his clenched jaw, "I want you to inquire about the girl's identity. Discreetly."

Kevan nodded obediently, before going down the stairs in the direction of the Tyrell girl and her friends while Tywin watched unseen, Jaime wearing a puzzled frown by his father's side.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Sansa knew she had to focus, but how could she when everything was so beautiful ?

At least she was doing her best to not to stare around too much, unlike Jeyne, who had been reduced to silence since they'd entered Baratheon's hall, her mouth hanging slightly agape.

Margaery chuckled.

"Gods, Jeyne, you look like you've never been to a party before."

"I haven't" confessed her friend with wonder. "Not one like this. This is... Everything's just so _magical_."

Sansa didn't say anything but inwardly she agreed.  
Had a few years really been enough to make her forget about the kind of beauty wealth could bring ? She didn't remember the celebrations she'd attended as a teenager to have been so bright, the sounds so vivid. Ladies walked past them, like swans gliding on water, and the delicate sound of precious fabrics was softly mingling with the waltz played by the orchestra, the only punctuation the sweet chime of carefree giggles in the distance.

She shook her head, smiling at her own silliness. 

_Get a hold of yourself, Sansa. This is only rich people being rich._

And indeed, as she looked more closely, she could see that the ladies she had been admiring a moment earlier were staring at her and Jeyne with a mocking edge to their perfect painted smiles, that the musical giggles, which had previously sounded so sweet, were in fact directed at poor Jeyne. Jeyne, who was grinning happily at everyone and everything, unaware.

 _Ah yes, that's more like the world I remember,_ she thought as she tried not to scowl at the women. Next to her, Loras just sighed.

"I bet you hadn't missed _that_ right ? Let's not spoil her joy right now."

"Loras, Sansa, isn't it wonderful ?" exclaimed Jeyne, a few steps in front of them, as a waiter wearing a slightly disapproving look offered her a flute of champagne. "I thought they only did that in the movies, you know. You say everything here is free, Marg ?"

"Yes, Jeyne" said Margaery with a wink. "Enjoy yourself."

"Oh, don't worry, I will" She giggled. "I feel like a fairytale princess !" she said as she walked in the direction of the orchestra. Sansa grabbed Margaery's arm.

"Please, Margaery" she said urgently "Keep an eye on her. And don't let her drink too much. You know how champagne can get to one's head, and she's not used to it."

"Don't worry, I'll be the perfect babysitter" promised Marg in a reassuring voice. "Now, I better go catch up on her. Also, I have to find where the fuck the other idiots are." And then she was gone, navigating easily around the numerous groups of people in the hall, leaving Sansa alone with Loras.

"For that matter, I wonder where Renly is" he muttered. "Do you think..."

"Sansa !" she suddenly heard a familiar voice calling her.

"Mum !" She turned around, and there were Father and Mother, coming towards her smiling. She grinned widely as her mother embraced her tightly. Loras waved lightly at her from behind her mother's shoulder, already looking for Renly's face in the crowd, and she nodded distractedly at him.

"We have been looking for you since we got here" revealed Father with a side glance to his wife. "Leave it to Margaery to get you there one hour late. I tell you, Sansa, I cannot wait to leave this place."

"Dear, not now" said Catelyn, smiling just a little too widely.

"Although maybe it was all worth it, if only to see Cersei Lannister trying to conceal that sour face of hers. How difficult it must have been, for her to feign politeness to the likes of us" he muttered.

"The Lannisters are here ?", Sansa whispered urgently.

"Of course they are, Sansa" replied Mother, lifting her brow "After all, they're the ones paying for all this. Didn't you know ?"

"Where..."

She was interrupted by the sound of someone politely clearing his throat coming from behind her.

"Mr. Stark, Mrs. Stark, good evening. I hope you're both enjoying the party."

The middle-aged man speaking to them was tall but unassuming, with light green eyes and sparse short grey-blond hair. She felt a sudden strong sense of déjà-vu while looking at his friendly face.  
Father's frown only deepened.

"It is wonderful, Kevan" assured Mother, gracefully smiling at him, but Sansa could see the tense edge in the corners of her mouth. "Cersei really outdid herself. The orchestra, especially, is incredible."

"Well, don't tell anyone" the man, Kevan, confided in a stage whisper, bending slightly his chest towards her parents. "But she may have had the help of a professional there. Several professionals, if you really want to know all the truth" he winked at Sansa as he straightened his back.

"And who is this beautiful young lady there ?" he continued, smiling warmly at her. She grinned back, nervously. She didn't like the way Father was glaring at this man.

"My name is Sansa Stark, sir" She nearly stammered, curtsying lightly and feeling more than a little ridiculous while doing so. Normal people in the normal world didn't _curtsy_.

For an instant, she thought she saw a strange glint in the man's eyes, but then before she even really registered it, he was all easy friendliness again.

"Well, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Stark. A real pleasure. So, what do you think of today's charity funding, Mrs. Stark ?" he said, turning towards her parents again.  
She took a breath and tried to calm herself as the man talked with her mother about some war zone or another, her father almost rude in his silence.  
She couldn't really concentrate, busy as she was scanning the faces in her field of vision, looking for the one person she wanted to hide from.

"I'm sure that with all our goodwill combined, we will be able to do much good with the Riverlands situation. Ah, but I think I see my own dear niece in need of my much-needed help, right over there. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Stark, Mrs. Stark" he smiled at Sansa again "Miss Stark. Please, enjoy the evening"  
He bowed lightly before turning away, disappearing amongst the crowd.

"The nerve of that man !" 

"Ned, calm down" Mother sharply said "He was only being polite."

"Who is he exactly ?" Sansa asked, bewildered. 

"Kevan Lannister" answered Father angrily, and it seemed her heart had instantly stopped beating. "Tywin's brother and shadow. No doubt going back to report to his master right now."

"Ned, you're being paranoid. That's not..." Her mother's voice faded under the buzzing sound of the blood rushing in her ears.

 _He knows my name._ Blond hair, green eyes. Lannister features. _I should have known, I should have made the connection. Oh Gods, why am I so stupid ?_ She felt panic rising in her chest.

"Sansa ? Sansa, are you alright, darling ? Ned, she's as white as a sheet."

"I'm fine, Mum" she said, absently fiddling with a wild strand of auburn hair. How she wished she could cover it, suddenly. She smiled, brightly. "I think I can see Marg waving at me, ah yes, it seems like she finally found Randa and the others. I'll see you later, both of you !"

"Sansa, wait..." 

But she was already leaving, not seeing where she was going. The faces looking at her suddenly seemed horribly twisted, cackling at her like a thousand demonic masks, each unique in its horribleness. There was some music playing, a waltz. It sounded like nails on chalkboard to her ears.  
She heard someone calling her name, but she was breathing fast, much too fast, and she couldn't stop. 

She had to hide.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

"What was that all about ?" Catelyn said, sounding both baffled and worried.

"That" Ned replied, staring thoughtfully at Sansa's quickly retreating back in the distance, "Was your daughter being much more clever than either you _or_ I."

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

"She's Ned Stark's daughter, and her name is Sansa." Kevan was telling his brother at this moment, as Eddard had predicted. "Well-mannered, though she seems rather shy, and..." He frowned at something down there."What is she doing ?"

From their position it was easy to spot the Stark daughter amongst the guests. The girl had left her parents' side and was walking aimlessly through the crowd, her pace becoming faster and faster with every instant, the flight of a broken bird. She was already beginning to attract attention.

Tywin watched for a few moments as her trajectory became more and more erratic, his eyes intent and calm.

"Kevan" he suddenly said. "Could you please go to other side of the room and make some official statement. I don't care what you tell them, as long as you attract attention."

Kevan had to keep himself from gaping stupidly at his brother. _He said 'please'. Tywin._

_Things_ must _be serious_.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Distantly she heard noise, a voice loudly speaking. It came to her distorted, as if coming through walls of water. She couldn't understand what it was saying.  
She had fallen into the abyss, and couldn't find her way back to the surface. Her heart was beating so fast, so fast.  
Dimly, she registered the undefined shadows around her moving aside, and suddenly there was a hand on her arm, so strong it was almost painful. She opened her mouth to scream, but then there was a voice near her ear, much more sharp and distinct, and she _knew_ that voice.

"Miss Stark. Sansa. You are having a panic attack." And after a few frantic heartbeats. "It will be alright." The voice seemed almost reluctant while saying this.

Maybe that's why she believed it, all of a sudden. 

"Now, come with me" said the voice, a warm hand closing around hers. She grabbed it tightly, like a drowning man grabs a life ring.

_It will be alright._

She followed the man.

_It will be alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mention/description of PTSD, panic attack.*
> 
> ...Well, I promised interaction, I didn't say it would be long.  
> Due to technical difficulties, this chapter is un-betaed, so please forgive my many mistakes. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless !  
> (Thank you so much Oloi5 for clarifying some tricky points !)
> 
> Next chapter : confrontations, booze and politics.
> 
> Please tell me what you think about it, also correction and criticism are (as always) welcome ! (And if you want to see me whining about stuff (gods why would you want to), you can follow me on naerysia.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

"... And that is why, now again, I ask you to applaud a true child of this city : the man of the hour, the one and only Governor Baratheon himself!"  
   
A smattering of polite applause met Kevan Lannister as he stepped down from the improvised platform, sweat shimmering on his brow under the hot spotlights.  Kevan found his youngest nephew waiting for him with two glasses of wine in his hands.  
   
"Will you have a drink, Uncle ? That was such an inspiring speech there, surely you at least deserve this," drawled Tyrion. "I particularly loved the part where you began quoting the precise numbers for the association's operating costs, in excruciating detail. And this for ten minutes straight! Truly, that kind of precision must be commended, especially on an occasion like this."  
   
"Why, thank you Tyrion," Kevan said placidly, accepting the offered glass, while looking around the crowd. "It was a spur of the moment decision. Completely spontaneous."  
   
"Your _spontaneity_ had half of the good people here falling asleep by the first five minutes. No offence."  
   
"None taken. I think it is very important for our generous benefactors to know how their donations will be used."  
   
How Kevan could say that sort of thing with a straight face, Tyrion would never know. Could it be that he was merely witnessing the after-effects of long-term exposure to his own father's sunny disposition? Tyrion shuddered.  
   
"Well, after hearing that, you can bet I'm just _dying_ to invest my hard-earned money in Frey Construction and Co" he dead panned, before lowering his voice. "Seriously, Uncle, do you really expect no one here to ask any questions about this little business of yours and Father's?"  
   
"Well, they didn't, did they ?" he replied absently, still apparently looking for something behind Tyrion. "You would be surprised by how many indiscreet questions can be kept away by the power of a few account books and some complicated numbers. Besides, the whole business is completely legal."  
   
"Legal, maybe. Moral? Now that's another story."  
   
"A story you will keep for yourself." his uncle said with a side glance in his direction this time.  
   
"Of course. Far be it for me to infringe on my dear family's _business_ " A few drops of wine fell from the cup he was holding too tightly in his hand. It did not escape his uncle's eyes.  
   
"If you do have any new griefs to complain about, Tyrion, take it out on your father, not me" Kevan replied calmly. "Thank you for the drink. I must go." He held his untouched glass to his nephew, who took it without a word.  
   
"Oh, Uncle, you are so predictable." Tyrion made a face at the drinks in his hands, long after Kevan's departure. "Do you really expect me to believe that _you_ of all people would ever speak from your own initiative, and in public?"  
   
_Now, why my dear father would command you to make such a fool of yourself, that is what I wonder. What could he gain from this ?_    
Raising his head, he cast his eyes over the people in the hall.  The only thing of notice there were those horrible glass swans that Cersei had insisted on having in every corner of the room.  
   
_Speaking of the Devil, where_ is _Father ?_  
   
   
___________________________________________________________________________  
 

   
"Breathe, Sansa." her name sounded strange to her own ears, as if it hadn't been used in a thousand years and she was rediscovering it along with the man saying it. "Breathe."  
   
The voice kept repeating those two simple words, again and again, and then there was a damp cloth caressing the nape of her neck, its coolness a blessing on her skin. She inhaled sharply at the contact.  
   
"That's right. Breathe," the voice whispered. It was a beautiful sound, deep and _safe_. In her still half-delirious state of mind, she thought that the only thing she wanted in that moment was to lose herself in that voice, forever and ever.  
   
So she opened her eyes.  
   
There was a hand on her mouth before she could scream for help.  
   
"Please, Miss Stark." How could she ever have thought his voice to be beautiful? It was cold and harsh, an ugly thing. "Don't do that. Unwanted attention is something neither you nor I need at this moment." She closed her eyes, feeling terror burning through her veins. "Nod if you understand."  
   
She nodded frantically, and finally the hand was gone.  
   
"Get away from me!" she shrieked, shrinking from him as far as possible.  They were in a dark room, the noise of laughter and discussions muffled by the distance. _A library_ , she thought, looking at the shelves full of books on the walls. The only light came from a short desk lamp, casting strange shadows on venerable tomes that looked like they had never been opened. In the corner, she could see a chess set covered in dust.  
   
Sansa didn't remember coming here.  
   
"Of course," Tywin Lannister said evenly, rising in a fluid movement, a tall column of darkness in his black dinner jacket. "As soon as I know you're alright."  
   
"I am."  Even she wasn't convinced by the trembling whimper of her own voice. She sounded like a terrified little mouse caught in the paws of the cat, trying hopelessly to escape. "I am alright."  
   
He raised one sceptical eyebrow at her, his arms crossed. The faint glow of the lamp was cutting deep shadows on his angular face.  
   
"Really."  
   
"Yes, really! I don't _want_ your help. I want you to leave me alone." Her heart was racing again, and a black veil seemed to gather at the edges of her vision. She raised a trembling hand to her head.  
   
"Alas, we don't always get what we want." He turned his back to her, and she heard the sound of water being poured into a glass. "But sometimes, if we are lucky, we might get what we need. Here, drink this." He offered a glass of amber liquid to her. It shimmered gold in the dim light.  
   
"What is it?" she asked weakly. He quickly glanced at the back of a little curved bottle, frowning lightly.  
   
"Brandy. Robert likes to hide bottles of the stuff everywhere in this house." The corners of his lips turned down with disgust. "Not well enough, obviously."  
   
Sansa only looked warily at the glass in her hands.  
   
"Oh, for..." He abruptly took the glass from her shaking grip and, looking at her steadily, filled it to the brim before drinking it in one long swig. He grimaced.  
   
"The man truly has horrible taste in alcohol," he muttered. He filled another glass from the same bottle, and gave it to her this time. "Here," he barked at her. "Satisfied? If this was poison, I am now as good as dead." He suddenly frowned. "Now that I think about it, I wouldn't put it past Cersei to poison her husband's secret cache of alcohol."  
   
"Yeah" Sansa mumbled to her glass, very carefully not looking at him, "That does sound like something she would do." Almost defiantly, she took a little sip of the drink, and was immediately seized by a terrible coughing fit at the violent burn in the back of her throat.  
   
"It's awful!" She gasped loudly, glaring at the brandy with distaste.  
   
"As I said, horrible taste. I fear our dear Governor doesn't know much about spirits, apart from the fact that it can get him drunk much more effectively than beer or wine." He was looking at her intently. "How are you feeling?"  
   
She opened her mouth to answer.  "Better" she said, a little taken aback by her own answer. He snorted.  
   
"Behold, the famed power of bad alcohol." He held out his hand towards her. "Come, I'll tell your parents to get you home. You should be resting."  
   
She stared fixedly at the offered hand.  
   
_A Lannister hand,_ she suddenly realized. _The_ Lannister's hand.  
 Now she remembered. She had been so terrified, out there in the great hall. She had lost herself in the fear, and he... He...  
All of a sudden, she felt a terrible anger rising inside her, burning her even worse than the brandy.  
For the first time in years, she wasn't afraid.  
   
It was an exhilarating feeling.  
 

____________________________  
 

"Ned, did you talk with Judge Bolton about the Ryder case?" Manderly was asking, the expression of his bloated face grim."The man clearly... By the Gods, Ned, are you even listening to me?" he then exclaimed loudly, as Eddard Stark kept frantically typing on his cellphone.  
   
"Don't take offence, Wyman. Ned is just trying to look out for his baby," intervened Catelyn, who didn't even bother to hide her grin as she brought a plate full of appetizers to the two men. Manderly immediately seized a handful of little canapés with his fat fingers, still frowning.  
   
"His baby?"  
   
"Our eldest daughter, Sansa. She came with the young Tyrells to this evening's party. You remember my Sansa, right?"  
   
"Last time I saw her she was only a teenager," Manderly grumbled, but was then interrupted by Ned's low, urgent voice.  
   
"Cat, she's not answering her texts."  
   
"And?" Catelyn raised her brow at him. "She's having fun with her friends, you can hardly blame her for not spending time on her phone right now."  
   
"But she's not with her friends, Cat."  
   
"What do you mean, she's not with them ? She..."  
   
"Margaery and the others have been standing near the buffet for more than ten minutes now" interrupted Ned, "But I haven't even seen Sansa go near them even once." He looked at her, and she saw the worry in his eyes.  
   
"Cat, I haven't seen her at all since she left our side."  
   
   
_____________________________  
   
 

"Why?" Sansa's voice was low with barely-contained fury.  
   
"Sorry?"  
   
"Why are you here, helping me, when you _know_ who I am?" she tightened her fingers around her glass, her knuckles white. "All of this, it's because of you. I thought it was because I was weak, all those years I thought I was the one who was to blame, I thought it was my fault for being a coward. But in reality, it was _your fault_ all along. Why couldn't you just leave us alone?"  
   
For a few moments, they both faced each other, silent and still in the shadows. She could hear the faint sound of his breathing.  
   
"If you wish to throw accusations at me, Miss Stark," he finally said, his voice even and cool, "feel free to do so. But at least try to make some sense."  
   
"I _am_ making sense!" she cried out, her eyes wide and wild.  
   
"My father..." She took a deep, trembling breath. "My father will never be able to run again, and that was by _your_ orders. Do you have any idea of how terrified I have been, from you, from all the Lannisters, all these years ? For all this time, your men have targeted my family, terrorized us, and for what? For nothing!" She knew she sounded hysterical, her voice rising louder and louder in the room. "Nothing could possibly justify this! My father had done nothing to you!"  With horror, she felt her voice breaking on those words, along with her anger, tears falling freely from her eyes at last.  
   
"It was you, it was always you!"  
   
Sansa was fully sobbing now, as she had not sobbed in years, her slender frame shaking from the force of her grief. It felt like cutting an infected wound open, releasing all this pain away, and she wanted to die from the shameful relief it was bringing her.  
   
All of a sudden he was kneeling before her, holding her face between his hands, and forcefully raising her chin to meet his eyes. For a few heartbeats, blue grief met green anger, and then he was speaking slowly, articulating carefully, each of his words like a slap in her face.  
   
"I will _not_ defend myself to you. I do not need to." He paused.  "But you _will_ understand. What happened with your father was a deplorable accident."  
   
"An accident? You dare..."  
   
"Oh yes, I dare." He snapped at her. "Believe it or not, I did not give the order to hurt your oh-so-honorable father."  
   
He looked her straight in the eye.  
   
"You must have been too young at the time to remember," he whispered, his jaw clenched. "But the truth is, at that time your father had a son of mine captured," He frowned slightly, and muttered "That one never brought anything but trouble. Anyway, freeing him would have been no issue for me. Your father held no solid proofs against him, and everyone knew that, but I wanted to let things run their course. In retrospective, this maybe wasn't the best idea, but at that time there were some people who needed to be kept sure of their illusions of power..."  
   
He raised a hand, almost tiredly.  
   
"I will spare you the details. Suffice to say, some people in my organization didn't agree with my decision, and took action, without my consent. Of course, they were severely punished for it, but by then the harm had already been done." His thin mouth twisted in something like contempt. "I do _not_ pity Ned Stark. He played a game he didn't understand and he lost, as he always keeps losing. His lost leg was his own price to pay for his stupidity, and it was only luck that kept him from losing much more. And yet, I do regret that it occurred." Again, his eyes met hers. "Hurting him served no purpose."  
   
Somewhere in the middle of his speech her tears had dried. His piercing eyes studied her, almost expectantly, and she didn't know what to say.   
   
She wanted the anger to come back, she even wanted the pain back.  Sansa wanted everything but this strange, contemplative numbness that has slowly risen in her chest as he spoke.  
   
_He really doesn't feel sorry about what happened to any of us_ , she thought.  
   
_She_ had gone through so many powerful emotions in such a short time, their passing left her raw, ruined, exhausted.  But him?  
   
Here he knelt before her, and he was still as cold and unbreakable as ever, the golden flecks in his eyes a fire that no tear would ever extinguish. She looked away.  
   
"Yes, and you wouldn't do anything if it doesn't serve your goals in the end, would you?" she said in a small voice. "Like with that painting, at the museum." It felt like a memory from very long ago, that strange discussion with an even stranger man, and yet it had only been a week. But now she _knew_ who he was.  
   
"You don't like, nor dislike people. You just use them. So, what purpose did you have for helping me, out there in the hall?" Sansa Stark raised her blue eyes at Tywin Lannister, pleadingly. "Please, tell me."  
 

__________________________________________________________

 

"Ahem" Wyman Manderly said, rubbing his neck with his hand. "I may have seen a girl that looked a little like you, Cat. In a blue dress, right?"  
   
"Yes, that would be Sansa." Cat replied instantly, her hands clasped together. "Where did you say you saw her for the last time?"  
   
Manderly looked at the worried couple, and sighed. 

"You will not be happy."  
 

_____________________________________________________  
 

 

He held her gaze silently for a few moments.  Then he abruptly turned away from her, rising from his kneeling position, and Sansa felt like she had won a decisive victory in a battle she didn't know she had been fighting until now.  
   
"Again, ascribing feelings, or the absence of them, when there is no need. You want me to apologize, to feel regret? Foolish girl." He growled at her. "You sit there, with your ridiculous assumptions and righteousness, and you expect the ways of the world to change at your whim. Apologies? What good would apologies do. What would change? Nothing. Apologies are useless. " He suddenly went very still. "You cannot change the past."

 Sansa could only look at him with surprise, her eyes wide.

The man in front of her raised a hand to his face, slowly rubbing his eyes.  
   
"This is nonsense. Why did I even..." He abruptly stopped, and she distinctly saw Tywin Lannister almost, _almost_ shudder.  
   
Faintly, she heard a woman's laugh, coming from far away through the walls, and she opened her mouth.  To say what, she would never know.  
   
"Miss Stark" His voice was all effortless calm once again, chillingly polite. Yet hearing it now, after his previous outburst, she couldn't help but wonder about the truth in it. "You should go to your parents." His face was this impenetrable mask again, and suddenly she found it unbearable.  
   
"I hate you," she blurted, and felt her face become very warm.  
   
_Why did I say that? I didn't want to say that._  
   
She frowned at her own thoughts.  
   
_Why wouldn't I want to ? I should hate him._  
   
And yet, she suddenly realized that she didn't.  Not really.  
   
Some of the confusion she felt must have shown on her face, because Tywin Lannister then did something both very unexpected and very terrifying.  
   
He smiled.  
   
It was only a slight turn of the lips, something that could barely be qualified as a smile at all, but she flinched back like she'd been hit by a whip, her heart loud as thunder in her chest.  
   
For the second time this evening, he held his hand to her, wordlessly, and this time she took it, rising from her seat to meet him. His fingers, long and strong, felt like a burn on her skin.  
   
"I'm sure you do." He finally said softly, staring at her with this strange shadow of a smile still on his lips.  She couldn't detach her eyes from it. From him.  
He really did have beautiful eyes.  
   
_Oh Gods, what is_ wrong _with me ?_  
   
It was this inner scream that finally shook her out of the strange spell she was under, and she abruptly took a few steps away from him, her legs trembling and weak. Thankfully, the smile had already disappeared from his face, like the sun disappears behind clouds, taking away light and warmth.  
   
"I should go," she stammered.  
   
He simply nodded, his hand falling at his side, empty.  
   
"Please, don't say anything to my parents." she continued, her fingers nervously stroking the cloth of her dress.  
   
"They should be with you. Them or your friends. You shouldn't be alone right now." As she frantically shook her head at him, he continued "But I will respect your wishes. Come, let's get you away from here. And this time don't forget your purse."  She could have sworn she saw the left corner of his mouth turn up again.  
   
Sansa followed him out of the room, the same thoughts keeping replaying in her bewildered mind, as she peeked at him from the corner of her eyes.  
   
_Who are you ?_  
   
_I don't know you._  
   
 

__________________________________________________________________  
   
 

It had been said that Margaery Tyrell thrived in crisis situations. And she had to admit she was not so bad at resolving them. Very early in life she learned that if you acted like you possessed authority, people usually ended believing it. She’d also learned that a little calm in a tough situation will get you a long way. Those two things were the reason she was both a good party planner and a good surgery intern.  
   
That didn't mean she enjoyed crises in the least.  She hated them.  
   
"This is a complete disaster," she moaned in despair, looking at her phone screen. Jeyne awkwardly stood by her in her stiletto heels, as Arianne Martell threw back her glorious throat in a hearty laugh that covered even the ambient music.  
   
"Margaery." Her red lips were stretched in a wide smile. "Quentyn bailing on tonight isn't the end of the world. Why, do you have some secret crush on him ? How dare you not tell me !" she exclaimed in fake outrage.  
   
"What? Now, what would you even give you the idea... I wanted him here for _Sansa_ , not for me!" Margaery nearly shouted, and a few heads turned towards the girls at the sound.  
   
"Still playing matchmaker with your friends, Margie, I see" drawled Myranda Royce, holding a flute of champagne to her full lips. "Didn't you try that already with Willas?"  
   
"Well, yeah." Margaery mumbled reluctantly. "But Sansa was in a bad situation at that time. Also, I found out later that Willas was exchanging love letters with your uncle, of all people." She pointed an accusing finger at Arianne, who only smirked. " _Love letters_! Who even still writes love letters in the twenty-first century? So it's definitely not my fault it didn't work."  
   
Randa frowned.  
   
"Maybe, but you _did_ promise me my Sansa would be here tonight, and I don't see hide nor hair of her." She could sound very threatening, when she wanted to.  
   
" _Your_ Sansa?" Margaery scoffed. "Please. Now you are just being ridiculous. She never was interested in you, and you know it. Besides, aren't you already with someone?"  
   
"With Petyr, yeah. It's a free relationship. But then, you know _everything_ about these kinds of arrangements, right Margie?"  
   
"Now, let's not fight tonight," intervened Arianne loudly. "What would Sansa say if she saw the two of you like this?"  
   
_She would probably just shake her head and look at us with those deep blue eyes of hers, and then we would be too ashamed of ourselves to even bicker with each other_ , thought Margaery.  
   
It had always been like this, their strange dynamic : Margaery and Randa engaged in an ongoing competition for attention while Arianne watched from a distance, always the consummate politician. Sansa was the mediator, the unifying link of their friendship. Without her their little group never stood a chance.  
   
"Well, I'd like to see her say anything, after that stunt she pulled on us. Three years! Three years avoiding me, and I for one..."  
   
"Are you three really her friends?” Jeyne's small voice interrupted her rant. She stared at them wide-eyed, as if she had never seen them before. Now that Margaery thought about it, they had indeed not seen each other very often in the past. Sansa's embarrassing childhood friend had never really been a member of their social circle.  
   
"You are talking of her as if she was a _thing_ to be possessed," she continued, her voice trembling.  
   
Randa only snorted.  "Everyone wants to possess our little Sansa. I'm just more honest about it than most."  
   
"But, why would you even..."  
   
"Oh, by the Gods!" Randa finally snapped. "Just _Fuck off_ , Plain Jeyne. Nobody even wants you here."  
   
"Myranda!" Margaery shouted.  
   
For a horrible moment, Jeyne just stood there, her mouth open. She looked like she had been stabbed through the heart.  Then her big brown eyes filled with tears and she turned away and fled through the crowd.  
   
"Oh, Randa, what have you done?" exclaimed Arianne, her hand raised to her mouth. Margaery only hoped that it wasn't to hide a smile.  
   
"What? I only told the truth. She has no place here. Have you even seen that dress of hers? She's.."  
   
"She's a nice person, Randa." Margaery said slowly, her voice quivering with anger and shame. "And that's more than I can say for you. For any of us."  
   
She ran after Jeyne.  
 

____________________________________________________________

 

People always thought Jeyne was stupid, just because she sometimes didn't bother to hide her feelings and said whatever went through her silly head. After all, what was the point in trying to look like someone you weren't?  
_But maybe they're right. Maybe I_ am as stupid as everyone says, she thought.  
She should have known that Margaery Tyrell, of all people, would never have invited someone like her if not for Sansa.  
   
"I'm so, so sorry, Sans," she was crying, hidden behind a column with her arms tight around herself, and her make-up would no doubt look horrible by now. "I've made such a mess of everything. Why did I even say anything?" _Now your friends will hate me._ "I am an idiot!" she wailed.  
   
"No, you aren't."  
   
Jeyne brusquely raised her swollen tear-streaked face, and there was Margaery, slightly panting in her beautiful dress.  "Shit, how do you manage to run so fast in fucking stilettos?” Margarey puffed. “I nearly lost you amongst all those people."  
   
Jeyne felt like a fish as she closed and opened her mouth a few times. "I used to work as a bar hostess" she finally answered, almost shyly. "My boss wanted all the girls to wear high-heels, all day long."  
   
"Really? Wow, that's so mean. I could never do that. I mean, I have to stand up all day at the hospital, could you even imagine the state of my poor feet at the end of the day, if I was wearing fucking heels?" She played nervously with the end of one of her curls, before looking Jeyne in the eye. "Also, I am sorry."  
   
"For what ?" asked Jeyne in surprise.  
   
"You of all people really need to ask me that?" exclaimed Margaery. "I am sorry for what happened right there, with Randa. I am sorry for not inviting you to my parties in the past, for making fun of your ridiculous dress, for never even bothering to take the time to know you. I've been horrible with you. You are not an idiot, Jeyne. I am the idiot," she sniffed. "And now you're going to make me cry. Nice job, girl."  
   
Jeyne stared at her for a moment, completely mystified.  
   
"Margaery, what is wrong with my dress?" She looked down at herself in confusion.  
   
"Nothing, Jeyne." Margaery smiled, a tremulous little thing. "Nothing at all."  
   
"Oh." She took a few steps forward, and suddenly she was hugging the other girl with all her strength.  
   
"Jeyne," Margaery wheezed, patting the smaller girl's back lightly. "Jeyne, what the fuck are you doing?"  
   
Then "Jeyne, I can't _breathe_."  
   
"Thank you, Marg." Jeyne burst into tears again. "I think you are a wonderful, wonderful person."  
   
"Ugh," said Margaery, resignation on her face.  
   
After all, death by asphyxiation was just as good as any other, in the end.  
 

______________________________________________________________________  
   
   
They had gone through a deserted corridor, the background noise of the crowd becoming louder and louder as they walked together.  He was silent again, and Sansa was beginning to feel nervous, though for different reasons than before.  
   
"Why the library?" she finally couldn't help but ask, watching his proud profile.  
   
"Why are you asking?"  
   
"You could have... I mean, there are plenty of empty rooms closer to the great hall."  
   
"A correct observation. But then, the risk of being surprised by some meddlesome guest would have been far greater, right?" He raised one eyebrow at her.  
   
"Right," she whispered.  
   
"I didn't think Eddard Stark, of all men, would approve of rumors that his precious daughter was found alone in the dark with an enemy of his, no matter the truth," he continued.  
   
_But what exactly is the truth?_  
   
"And how were the Rembrandts?" he asked her.

 She glanced at him, quickly.

"You know I didn't go to see the collection."  
   
"Indeed. But now, I think I understand why you didn't." he said, almost gently.  
   
She mused silently on it for a moment.  
   
"I threw your card away," she suddenly confessed.  
   
"Now that's the most terrible thing any Stark has ever done to me." he retorted dryly, and she couldn't help but smile, a little.  
   
"If you give me another, I can throw it away too."  
   
"No thanks. You have already demonstrated well enough what an ungrateful girl you are. No more of my precious visit cards for you, Miss Stark."  
   
"Yes, after all, those things must cost a fortune. And we wouldn't want you to go bankrupt because you just couldn't pay the printer for more, would we?"  
Gods, she was exhausted.    
"Exactly. One must be careful against the growing threat of card-throwers." He deadpanned.  
   
"Did _you_ see the Rembrandts?"  
   
"I had to be present at the inauguration ceremony, so yes."  
   
_Seems like fun._ "And did you _like_ them?"  
   
"You are a very insolent young lady. Do you know that?" His eyes shimmered with amusement. She knew they did. Even if his face could have been cut in stone, for all the emotions it showed.  
   
"I only adapt to the current company."  
   
"And thus you prove my point."  
   
Suddenly they found themselves in front of a wooden door, and as he stopped, she knew that beyond it was the rest of the party.  
   
"It is best if we are not seen together." He finally said, holding her gaze. "You go first."  
   
_Yes, and I will never see you again after this, if I am lucky._  
   
"Right," she hesitated, then said, very quickly. "Thank you for helping me." Then she raised her chin and stared at him defiantly. "But I do not regret the things I said to you."  
   
"I would think much less of you if you did. Go home, Miss Stark," and he gently pushed her towards the door.

The hall seemed gigantic, too noisy, too bright after the darkness and her eyes took a moment to adjust. She could see her parents, in the distance, already coming her way.  
 And yet, her mind couldn't leave the library.  
   
_He is a Lannister, and no friend of mine. He is a mean old man, old enough to be my grandfather even, and a criminal. He would kill us all the first chance he got. I don't like him at all._  
   
Maybe, if she told it to herself often enough, she would end up believing it. If only he could be horrible to her, too, that would make things so much easier.  
   
Maybe she would even learn to really hate him, in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a big thank you to Oloi5, for being a fantastic beta reader. It's due to her that your eyes are not bleeding by the end of this (but I claim sole responsibility for any weird turn of phrase that might have filtered through.)
> 
> Please tell me what you think of it ! As always, any criticism is greatly appreciated :)
> 
> Next chapter : past, present and politics.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Twenty years ago** _

It had been raining without a break for days now. Ned was tired of it.

Dark grey clouds had been covering the city's sky, obliterating the cold light of day, and the air smelled like wet earth and rot. Sometimes he thought he could even detect the faint scent of gunpowder and blood, underneath. That was a ridiculous idea, of course. Like everything else, the blood in the streets had been washed off by the deluge.

 _Let's hope the intel was true_ , he thought as the shape of the seemingly abandoned warehouse finally came into view through the windscreen. _This time._

Water was sticking his short hair to his forehead as he came out of the car. He shivered in the strong wind, tightening the lapels of his coat around him, and quickly walked to the warehouse's entrance.

The iron door creaked horribly as he pushed it open, and he grimaced. This building had obviously seen better days. A chill went through his bones. It seemed even colder inside. _At least it is dry in here._

“Hello ? Anybody here?” he called out, loudly. Silence was the only answer as his eyes progressively adapted to the darkness. The place seemed deserted, only a few barrels and containers visible at the sides, the smell of damp and dust cloying.

_Wrong track, again. But then, it's not like the Mad King would ever have accepted such extravagant lodgings in the first place._

Something still made him try again. A fool's last hope, maybe.

“Aerys Targaryen! My name is Eddard Stark, I have come to talk to you. I...”

He stopped still. There it was again, that horrible smell of blood which seemed to follow him everywhere nowadays. Stronger than before.

_Just my imagination running wild._

Still, better be sure. Dread coiled in his stomach, heavy and cold, as he walked a few steps again. The smell was definitely stronger the closer he got to the barrels, and he tasted metal on his tongue.

Ned always had a gun on him, these days. When all this had first begun, he'd thought he would never have to use it. It was a precaution, nothing else. At least, that's what he told himself and his father. Now there was no hesitation whatsoever in his hands as he drew the Sig-Sauer from its holster at his side, his finger firm on the trigger.

“Who's there ?” Ned shouted. “Show yourself, or by the Gods I swear I'll shoot you!”

For a moment nothing happened.

Then suddenly the light came on. Ned cried out, his retinas burning from the shock after becoming used to the darkness.

“Well, well, well. The little wolf's yapping isn't so loud right now, is it?”

“Jaime Lannister,” Ned hissed between his teeth. He forced his eyes open. “Where is Aerys?”

“He's kind of everywhere, actually. Look at your feet, Stark.” Jaime's maniac laugh echoed in the wide space.

As much as he didn't want to, Ned couldn't help but look.

“ _Gods_ "

There were chunks of _it_ on his shoes, and it took all his willpower to not throw up then and there. He quickly took a few steps backwards, the bitter taste of bile burning in the back of his throat.

“Yeah. You know, people used to call Mr. Targaryen here thick-headed, amongst other things, but that's nothing a nice little bullet cannot remedy, isn't it ?” Jaime laughed again. “Isn't it, _Ned_?”

“Aerys was a protected witness. _You_ were supposed to guard him, to protect him from harm.” Ned took a deep breath, and immediately regretted it. He knew then that he would have nightmares of that smell in the years to come. “Instead, you murdered him. He was only an old man...”

“An old man with hundreds of henchmen at his beck and call! An old man with a _plan_ , Stark. You wouldn't believe...”

“No, you're right, I would not believe you. I would never believe the cop who shot an unarmed man in the head. You can spin your tale to your fellow prison inmates, for all I care.” He pointed his gun at Jaime Lannister's head. “Now, you come with me. I swear, you'll rot in jail until the end of your sorry life for this.”

But Jaime was suddenly smiling widely, his handsome young face still marked with blackened drops of blood. Ned frowned.

“A wise man knows to not make promises he cannot keep, Mr. Stark.” It was then, hearing the cold voice coming from behind him, that Ned understood. His hold on the gun tightened.

“Ah, so daddy has come to the rescue.” Ned felt cold sweat running down his spine. _I didn't hear him enter. How many men did Tywin bring with him ?_ “Tell me, Jaime, when did he first order you to assassinate the Mad King ? Before, or after you swore to protect Aerys ?” _Please let me live to see Cat again._

“Don't answer that question, Jaime.”

“The judge will ask you the same thing, soon enough. What will you answer, then?”

“Jaime only did his duty to this city. It is common knowledge that Aerys was a maniac. During one of his episodes he became aggressive, and my son had to shoot him in self-defense.”

“Oh, so _that_ 's the official story? You may want to find a better one, I doubt the judge will buy that bullshit.”

“But of course he will.” A pause. Ned felt his sweaty fingers shake around the Sig-Sauer. “Now, Mr. Stark, isn't it usually considered rude to turn one's back to his interlocutor? What would the honorable Rickard Stark think of this?”

“Don't you dare bring up my father,” Ned growled. “Don't you dare. Not when your war already cost me his life and my brother's.”

“Yes, my war. And the man who had them both murdered lies dead at your feet. You should show some gratitude for this.”

“Gratitude!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I'll show gratitude when your son is behind bars, and not before.”

“Tell me, Mr. Stark, do you love your children?”

It was as if someone had suddenly dropped a bucket of cold water on his head. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Don't.”

“You are in no position to give orders.” Footsteps echoed throughout the room. “The names are Robb, Jon, and Sansa, right? I do try to remember this sort of details, but error is human after all. I believe your daughter is only three, right?”

“Leave them out of this. They are innocent.”

“Children usually are. Now, you know how this city works. Surely, you are not so naive as to think I would have neglected such an obvious weakness of yours.”

“You are bluffing. You...”

“Right now,” Tywin Lannister interrupted, “There are two of my men following Sansa and her mother. They are in Godswood Park, near North Avenue. You know the place. And thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I even have a live feed to their position.”

Suddenly Ned was hearing his daughter's joyful little voice, clear and loud. He could have cried from the sheer beauty of the sound.

_“And Mama, Jeyne was all dirty again and the teacher was so angry, and...”_

The sound was abruptly cut.

“Charming,” Tywin Lannister said coolly.

“You monster,” Ned whispered.

“Now, Mr. Stark, you will lower your gun, _right now_ , or little Sansa's head explodes like a ripe pumpkin. And believe me, I _do_ keep my promises.”

Ned let the hand holding the gun fall at his side.

“Please, don't hurt them.”

“I don't need to. As long as you do what you're told. Give your weapon to my son.”

He obeyed, under Jaime's mocking smile.

“You would do well to remember this moment in the future, Mr. Stark,” that horribly calm voice went on, “When next you begin to obsess about justice again, as you no doubt will. Eventually you'll have to choose what is more important to you: an abstract ideal, or the life of your children. Until then, our business here is done. Jaime, come.”

Jaime didn't say anything as he went past Ned's slightly shaking form, but Eddard Stark could _feel_ his mocking eyes on him.

In in mind, Ned could almost hear Jaime's triumphant voice. _See? See the power of the lions? What can you do against us, little wolf? Roll up and die already. This is our city now._

“Aerys.” Ned would never know what possessed him to speak at this moment. Maybe it was the grey chunks of brain matter on his soles.“He was your friend, once.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

“A long time ago, yes,” Tywin finally answered, his tone indifferent. “Not that it would matter, now. Good bye, Mr. Stark.”

Ned heard the sound of retreating steps. His eyes were fixated on the gory mess on the ground. _I'm going to live._

“Ah, I almost forgot.” Ned tensed all over again, his heart beating painfully in his chest. “Please tell your friend Robert that I hope he appreciates my little gift.”

“Your gift?”

“You will know soon enough.” Lannister simply said.

And suddenly they were gone. Ned heard the sound of a car door being opened and closed, of a vehicle starting. _How did I not hear it coming?_

The wind was howling against the walls of the warehouse, and Ned Stark fell to his knees on the blood-soaked ground.

It was later that day, when they found the mangled bodies of Elia Martell and her children at the Targaryen family home, that he would learn what Tywin Lannister meant exactly by _gift_.

 

__________________________________________________

 

**Now**

“Sansa!” Catelyn called, hurrying to their daughter's side. Ned followed behind, as quickly as he could with his prosthetic leg.

“Mom.” Sansa's eyes were red, her face very pale. She crossed her arms around her chest.

“Where were you?” Ned tried to keep his voice calm. “We've been looking for you for some time now. You weren't with your friends.”

“Oh. I was... I didn't feel very well, so I just left the hall for a moment to rest.” Sansa was studying the intricate wood inlay of the floor intently. “You know how it is. I was a little overwhelmed by all those people,” she said with a little laugh.

Ned and Catelyn exchanged a glance.

“Sansa,” he said carefully, “I spoke to Wyman Manderly a moment ago. Do you know what he told us?”

“How would I know, Dad?” she was still looking down at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. Ned felt his mouth tighten at this. “I haven't seen him in years.”

Catelyn gently took hold of Sansa's hand.

“Sansa,” she said softly, “Manderly said... He said he saw you and Tywin Lannister going out of the room together. I know it sounds a little ludicrous, but please, did you...”

“It's not true!” Sansa exclaimed suddenly, and she was looking at Ned now. _She looks afraid_ , he thought as he took in her wide reddened eyes _And she's been crying. What did he do to you?_ “He must have mistaken me for someone else, or... Something. I swear, Dad, you have to believe me, I would never...”

“I believe you, sweetheart,” he quickly said, feeling helpless rage raise in him. “But if he ever made contact with you, you must tell us. The man's dangerous. Please, Sansa, did you ever talk to him?”

For a moment, she looked at him like a frightened deer in the headlights, so small and pale.

 _Promise me, Ned. Promise me._ He felt a sudden chill go right to his core as the voice of another girl, long dead, resonated through his mind.

“No,” she said. “I didn't even saw him of all evening. Mr. Manderly must have mistaken me for someone else,” she repeated. Her face was suddenly completely expressionless, and Ned felt cold at the sight. “After all, he hasn't seen me in years."

“You are quite sure that...”

“I am,” she stood very straight, her hands crossed in her lap. “Dad, I'm very tired. Could you give me a lift home? I don't want to disturb Margaery.”

“But, didn't you want to meet with your friends again?” Cat asked, her brow furrowed with worry. “You haven't seen Randa and Arianne in...”

“Mom, I'm really tired,” she said calmly. “They will understand. I just want to go home.”

Ned didn't miss how tightly her hands clenched together.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he slowly replied. “Let me just say goodbye to Wyman. We left him quite abruptly, you understand, and I have something I must discuss with him, concerning the office. It will not take long.”

He squeezed her shoulder lightly, and she nodded rigidly.

Manderly was still near the buffet, talking with a gorgeous woman in a golden dress.

“And then I said: 'My dear sir, you...'”

“Wyman,” Ned interrupted urgently “I must talk to you, now.”

“Ah, Ned, couldn't you chose another time?” Manderly muttered with a side-glance at the woman, who was wearing an amused smile. “This is _not_ a good moment.”

“I'm afraid not. I must drive my daughter home right now.”

“Oh, so you did find her after all?”

“Yes. She's there, by her mother's side,” Ned gestured in the two women's direction.

“Ah yes, that's the girl I saw earlier. I knew she looked like Cat.”

“So, you are positive.”

“By the Gods, Ned, yes, I already told you!” Manderly exclaimed, then lowered his voice. “It was when Kevan decided to bore us all to death with his stupid speech. She seemed to be in a rush, and she accidentally pushed me. You know me, I cannot resist a pretty girl,” he smiled at the lady in the golden dress, who winked back at him. “I didn't know she was your daughter, Ned, else I wouldn't even have thought of it of course. So there I was, about to speak to her, when I saw Lannister at her side.” He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

“I think she would have screamed, but I think he said something to her. I don't know what, I was too far away, anyway the girl looked terrified. Then he took her hand, and they just left through that door” he waved his arm at the general direction. “I think I was the only one who even noticed it. I would have intervened, but...”

 _But you were too afraid of Tywin._ Ned thought, as he looked at Manderly's tense expression. _“Like everyone else.”_

“Ned, I don't know what to tell you,” Manderly finally said, awkwardly.

“It's okay,” Ned replied, when it was everything but. “Enjoy the party, Wyman. I have to take my daughter home.”

“Okay. And Ned? Be careful. You and your family.”

“I always am, Wyman,” Ned murmured in answer. _And yet, it is never enough, it seems._

On the other side of the room he could see Catelyn speaking to Sansa, who was only shaking her head, her face set in that unreadable mask, so unnatural on her. Cat raised her head, and her eyes met Ned's through the distance.

 _She's lying._ , her look said.

 _I know,_ he thought. _I know._

Couples were laughing all around him, the heavy aroma of expensive perfumes making his head almost spin, and yet he suddenly thought he could smell another scent underneath it all, insidious and metallic. His mouth turned down in a frown as he looked at his eldest daughter.

Lannister would pay for this.

 

__________________________________________

 

Kevan was watching Ned Stark and his daughter taking their leave, a bewildered frown on his face, when Tywin finally appeared at his side.

"I've been looking for you, you know. As have others," he simply said, glancing at his brother's still face.

Tywin didn't say anything, and Kevan sighed.

"So, what was that all about ?" he asked.

A long while after, when he'd almost given up hope of ever obtaining an answer from Tywin, his brother spoke at last.

"Who else has been looking for me?"

 _Oh, you've got to be kidding me,_ thought Kevan, exasperated.

"So, that's how you're going to play it?" he muttered, "Why am I not surprised in the least."

"The matter is inconsequential. Now, answer my question."

The affirmation had Kevan looking side-ways at him. _Trying to divert the subject. And you believe yourself so smooth._ He shook his head in disbelief, but let the matter drop.

"It's Martell. He says he wants to arrange a meeting between the families. Place and time of your choice, of course."

The head of the Lannister family simply nodded.

Down in the hall, the Stark girl and her father finally left through the main door, and Tywin turned towards his brother.

"So, Dorne's drug cartel is no longer enough to satisfy the Red Viper," he murmured, "A pity. We'll have to teach the boy to curb those ambitions of his."

"Oberyn didn't take being shut off from the whole Riverlands venture very well," said Kevan carefully.

Also, there was the small matter of Elia's death and her children's. That may have happened twenty years ago, but neither Doran nor Oberyn would ever forget _that_.

"I don't care about Oberyn Martell's disappointments. The more power you give a man, the less prone he becomes to obedience. This particular man was always too rash for his own good, but he is a fool if he thinks we'll give in to his whims."

"The Martells are not people to scoff at."

"No, they're not," Tywin agreed without batting an eye, "And that's precisely why they'll have to be reminded of where their interests lie," He turned away, his eyes distant.  
"Tell Martell that I'll contact him."

Kevan walked away from his brother, thinking to himself that he almost pitied Oberyn in that moment.

But then, the man had brought it upon himself in the first place.

A fool, indeed.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Ned's car stopped in front of a shabby set of buildings. By then the night had come, and the broken street lamps failed to pierce the darkness. For a moment, Ned just took in the dilapidated looks of the place, in the faded tags on the old walls.

"Please, don't tell me you actually live here."

"It's cheap, Dad," she said. "And the people are actually quite nice, when you get to know them. I never had any problems with my neighbors, which is more than I can say for you and Mom. Remember old Balon down the street?" she smiled.

"Sansa, if you need money, you only have to ask. You know that, right?"

"I know," she whispered. Looking at his dubious expression, she went on, "It's okay. Really, Dad, it is."

"Hmmmph."

She smiled at him, shaking her head. As she was about to grab her purse and get out of the car, Ned gently took her hand in his.

"Sweetheart, if you ever need to talk..." he hesitated, then continued, "If you ever are in trouble, you only need to tell me, okay ? And I'll fix it."

"Thank you, Dad," the shadows under her eyes were very dark in the white light of the car.

She opened the door.

"Dad," Sansa looked at him, straight in the eye this time, "Don't worry about me. Really, I'm fine."

 _Oh, don't worry so much all the time Ned. I'm fine. Really, I am!_  
Lyanna's laugh, like the ringing of silvery bells, the sound forever preserved in his memories.

 _Why can't I shake off the feeling that the past is repeating itself?_ Ned felt a deep sense of unease at the idea.

"Sansa," he cleared his throat. "I'll wait in the car for a little while. Take care of yourself, okay? And remember, if you ever have anything you want to tell me..."

"I will. Of course," she glanced at the side, and opened the car door. "See you later, Dad. Say hi to the boys and Arya for me."

"You can do that yourself, if you ever can get yourself to come home for dinner sometimes. You know how much your mother would _love_ to stuff you with your favorite lemon cakes again. Just like old times."

Again, she smiled that strange little smile of hers at him.

And again he felt chilled to the bone.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

They didn't believe her. But then, she had never been a very good liar.

Sansa took off her shoes, slowly. Her little flat seemed eerily silent after all the chatter and music of the party. Had it really been only a few hours since she'd left in the Tyrell's car? It felt more like centuries.

She never liked it, lying to her parents.

Her limbs felt so heavy and numb as she took off her wrap-over top and her too large blue dress, as if she was trying to move through blocks of water.

So why did she?

Sansa took off the little blue rose hairpins from her hair, one by one.

She didn't want Mother nor Father to worry about her. That was all there was to it.

She slowly undid her bun, and the heavy auburn locks fell down her back, looking almost out of place next to her frail shoulders. As she brushed it, she found herself thinking back on a sharp voice and pale eyes.

He _had_ helped her, when all was said and done. Why did he, if he really was as monstrous and cold as they said?

She braided her hair, her hands unusually clumsy while doing so, and put on her nightdress.

Lady was sleeping on the bedspread without a worry in the world, a warm ball of grey fur with her little head hidden under her front paws, and Sansa couldn't help but smile at the sight. She was careful to not disturb her as she went under the covers and hugged herself to sleep.

And if the hand he had touched felt strangely sensitive as she laid in her bed waiting for the sweet oblivion of dreams, she was also very careful not to think about it.

 

____________________________________________________

 

The morning after the charity gala was a perfectly lovely sunny day, and it was difficult to imagine that this was a world where men would be ready to hurt and kill each other for power when the birds sang loud and clear, when the blooming trees made such an enchanting vision for the passing eye.

Which was why Ned Stark found himself oddly reassured when Petyr Baelish chose to darken the doorstep of the D.A.'s office office with his fake smile and even faker cheer.  
Count on Littlefinger's mere existence to restore one's belief in reality's imperfections.

"Good morning Stark, I hope I'm not intruding?" the man said, while casually intruding without waiting for an answer.

"No," Ned muttered, looking up from the pile of files on his desk, "No, of course Baelish. Make yourself at home."

"Why, thank you, that's very kind of you," he exclaimed brightly, "I know how much you value your privacy, even here at work."

"Do you," Ned said in a dead-pan voice.

"I will not be long. You see, I've come to offer you my services." Littlefinger opened his arms widely, and Ned's stare was drawn by the one three-fingered left hand, as always. And as always, it annoyed him. Gods knew the man used this little trick of his often enough to distract attention while pleading in the courtroom.

"I doubt such a proposition would be very compatible with your master's interests," he replied dryly.

"Who, Lannister? 'Master' is such a dramatic term, why, it sounds positively medieval, and much too sinister for a simple guy like me. No, Stark, I am their lawyer, and that's all there is. Nothing more, nothing less," the man smiled this too-white smile of his. Ned would've rather trusted a hungry shark with a newborn babe. "And I'm a fervent believer in client confidentiality."

"I have no need for a lawyer right now."

"There are many different kinds of services one can offer, Stark." Littlefinger suddenly frowned. "Okay, now _that_ sounded weird, especially since you're absolutely not my type."

"Thank the gods for their small mercies."

"You know, I never understood why Cat married you," Baelish went on with a thoughtful look, "You always seemed like such a dreadful bore -- no offence. Oh well, there's no accounting for taste."

"Baelish," Ned was feeling the beginning of a headache. Littlefinger usually had that effect on people, and he was not immune. "What do you really want? I cannot believe that you would come to my office just to insult me."

"Last night," Littlefinger was looking at him now, and his eyes were not laughing any more, “Last night at the gala, you left rather abruptly, and much too early. That didn't go unnoticed."

"I had to..."

"Whatever your reasons," Baelish interrupted with a dismissive hand gesture, "Robert wasn't pleased. Did you know he had intended to officially declare you his Hand at the end of the evening, in front of all those great families, allies and enemies alike?"

"No I didn't," Ned replied. _Dammit Robert._ "But how would you know about yesterday, or Governor Baratheon's intentions in the first place, Baelish? I didn't see _you_ at the party."

"Let's just say that I have my own ways of obtaining information. It's a talent one must cultivate in my profession, you see."

"He will understand, once I explain my reasons to him."

"Stark," Littlefinger tutted at him. "I fear you're not understanding the game you're playing. You want to inquire about Jon Arryn's death, to discover who's responsible for killing the poor old man, right?"

Ned rose abruptly from his desk chair, his full attention on Littlefinger now.

"What do you know about that? Official inquiries concluded it was a natural death."

"Oh, I have no certainty for now, no proof whatsoever, only doubts and scattered clues. What I _do_ know is that right now all your power comes from whatever influence you may have on the Governor. Without that? Good luck ever finding the truth,"

Baelish's voice was harsh suddenly, and he sounded like a censorious schoolmaster. "Last night... Now that was stupid. You could have let Cat drive your daughter home safely, and stayed longer to smile and applaud at Robert's call. Or you could have returned quickly enough to have your absence, if not unnoticed, at least tolerated," he pointed the index finger of his good hand at Ned, " _You_ were supposed to be the guest of honor, Stark, and you didn't even realize what a slap in Robert's face your premature departure was, and in front of everyone at that. You can be sure that Tywin Lannister was watching with glee as you left – not that the Old Lion would ever show it, of course."

"This is ridiculous."

"Is it? I wonder, Stark, are you really _that_ oblivious to what's happening around you, or is it just a very clever pretense? Sometimes I cannot decide if you're an idiot or a genius. For Cat's sake, I'll give you a word of advice : be careful of how you act around your dear Robert in the weeks to come, or that obliviousness of yours could be your downfall."

"I will not hear anymore about this," Ned suddenly had enough of this game. "Now, tell me what you know about Jon's death. What are those "scattered clues" of yours?"

"Nothing much, I fear. Only a name," he took a folded white piece of paper out of his pocket. "It seems the Hand was investigating this place when he so abruptly died, and no one in his staff could explain why. Arryn kept the whole thing suspiciously secret."

Ned opened the folded paper.

" 'Maester Pharmaceuticals' ?" he read aloud.

"They specialize in genetics. I have no idea of why Jon Arryn found himself so interested in the company, and of course they won't let the likes of me access their files. But you, you could get this information. If you play your cards right, and don't pull another stunt like yesterday's. Governor Baratheon could grow tired of you, at this rate."

"Robert and I grew up together. I know him. He isn't the sort of man to take offense that easily."

"You may know Robert the friend, the ordinary guy, but do you know Robert the politician? Now _that_ man doesn't take well to humiliations."

Eddard suddenly found himself thinking back on Robert's expression when he'd learnt about the Targaryen's murders, and felt it again, that cold unease in his chest.

"Why are you doing this, Baelish? Why are you helping me?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"Why do I ever do anything for you Stark? Because of Cat, of course. Now, I actually have some work to do, so I'll take your leave. A nice day to you," he said with a grin, "and _please_ try to not be so stupid in the future."

 

Ned was left staring at the door's opening for a while after Littlefinger's departure, deep in thought.  
Then he took his cellphone out of his coat, his mouth turned down in a grim expression.

He knew what he had to do.

 

_________________________________________________________

 

Governor Robert Baratheon heard his phone buzzing and groaned in displeasure.

"Hold down, Mel," he muttered to the woman kneeling between his thighs, "It may be something important for a change."

She looked up at him, offering the Governor a too-brilliant smile and a very good view of her perfect cleavage.

"And isn't this," she suddenly bent her head down in his lap and he gasped, his hand grabbing her thick red hair convulsively, "important, too, hmm ?"

" _Oh gods._ You little _witch_."

It was ten minutes later, after she'd left and he was sitting at his desk, finally sated, that he looked at his phone's screen at last. His brow furrowed in a perplexed frown that only became deeper and deeper as he kept reading.

 

**hello robert i know you re very busy :D but i had to apologize for leaving early last night :( :( you know i wouldn t have left if it wasn t a matter of the utmost importance >_< >_< **

**actually it is very important that i speak with you about this and other things -_- :( <_< i cannot tell you more on the phone like that :) **

**so please call me :D :D :D :D maybe :D:D:D**

**(((there is a song that begins like that it is very catchy you should listen to it)))**

"For fuck's sake, man," Robert murmured, staring at the screen with undisguised horror now _. Ned, you fucking dork._ "That's why I could never stay mad at you."

With a sigh, he finally dialled Ned's number.

Indeed, they had a lot of talking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought you had seen the last of Awkward Texting Ned ? You thought wrong. 
> 
> A big thank you to Oloi5 for being such an amazing beta-reader. I learn so much about English due to her patient explanations :) Though I claim sole responsibility for any weird turn of phrase.
> 
> So, this is more of a transition chapter... I hope you still liked it !  
> Next chapter, things get more interesting with : singing, bars, and the Net. Also, booze. Always booze.
> 
> [EDIT : this story is going into hiatus until the end of May, because of a very important competitive examination I have to go through at this time. Don't worry, I will be back.]


End file.
